


The Adventures of the Snake and the Badger

by Ranowa



Series: Harry Potter AU [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Animal Abuse, Bullying, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fear of Heights, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Physical Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, in huge need of hugs roy mustang, kimbley is a massive pos here, someone save him from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 107,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: In which Maes is steadily building his reputation as the friendliest Hufflepuff in existence, and Roy is a lonely Slytherin who could really, really use a friend.It would be a match made in heaven, if Maes didn’t think Roy was a jerk, and Roy didn’t think Maes was insane.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is!!! At long last- the ACTUAL beginning to my HP AU series! 
> 
> Remember all those hints dropped in the 7th year fic about how Kimbley tormented Roy? No, not the ones about how he tormented /Maes/, that's a different fic still- but how he tormented Roy..? Well, here we finally are :)
> 
> If you're here for Maes and Roy (or Roy with friends who don't suck massively, period), I understand, I really do. Unfortunately, aside from some brief cameos, Maes doesn't bulldoze his way in until Chapter 6, and the rest of Team Mustang a little after him. I've only actually written as far as Chapter 5.5ish, but was so /tired/ of writing this slow burn of "Kimbley is a giant asshole" that when I got this far I finally decided to just start posting what I've got. Like I said, I'll really understand if you want to chill out until chapter 6 when our beloved characters and friendship starts, because, quite frankly, it's what I would do... but if you want Roy being mercilessly bullied... I'm here for you :)
> 
> For now, I'll update every two days. As I said, though, I'm only about halfway done with the fic, so I may have to slow down. Any questions for me about the AU/inconsistencies n such? Drop them in the comments :D
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Roy had planned everything out meticulously for this day.

He had had all his belongings packed for a week straight, not included the four times he’d torn through it all to make sure this or that was actually packed, and not hiding in his room somewhere instead. He’d had the route to platform nine and three quarters memorized, and traced it over every night just to be triple sure. He’d bounced out of bed this morning at six AM the day of, so early his aunt was still chasing out the last group of vampires from the bar, and sat there swinging his knees and watching the clock until it was time to go.

 _Roy_ had been ready for this day ever since his letter had come in the mail.

That did not, however, mean his aunt had, for once in her life, been able to leave on time.

Roy threw himself at the just gathering motion train, stumbling on board through the throng of waving parents and hanging on for dear life as it started to earsplittingly screech its way into motion. “Wait,” he begged desperately, “ _wait! Wait for me!,”_ but the train was absolutely deaf to his cries, and he was left with no choice but to scramble frantically to grab the nearest stationary object that he could, and pray not to get smushed by a train even before his sorting.

“ _Have fun at school, Roy-boy!”_ he heard his aunt call distantly behind him, and underneath her words was the very annoying, very distinctive, laughter of his sisters.

Laughing at the probable spectacle he was making of himself.

Blushing furiously now from head to toe, Roy shouldered his way roughly inside, tugged his already disheveled robes straight, and slammed the door shut behind him.

His first day of seven years of a magical education. His first day of what all the adult wizards in the world called the most important years of his life. His first day at the school that even his Chinese sisters called the best in the world.

And here he was. Looking like a bedraggled idiot, panting and sweating and barely on time, and already made a fool of himself.

“Thanks, Aunt Chris,” he grumbled under his breath, and tugged on his robes again.

Swallowing hard, Roy made himself turn at random, starting tentatively off down the first hallway he could see, hoping rather frantically to find a seat before the train got into real motion and he ended up on the floor. Luckily, it seemed most everyone was glued to the windows, waving at their parents; the passage was clear, and he was able to start off down on it without any mishap. A part of him ached unhappily when he peered in through the first window, and saw his guess was right- a group of older students, all waving frantically out the window, and in his ears already rang a chorus of goodbyes. He wasn’t going to see his family again until _Christmas._ He could find a seat later, right...? Maybe- maybe the older kids wouldn’t mind if he joined them for just a second, just until they pulled away from the station, so he could actually say goodbye-

Gulping again, Roy crept forward and gave a weak tug at the sliding door. He took a small step back, blinking up at the other students. “U-um...” He made a small pointing gesture towards the window. “Can... can I-“

One, only one, of the older kids glanced back at him, frowning. Roy just recognized what he thought was the dark blue, Ravenclaw eagle on his robes before the boy turned away again, waving a hand back at him in clear instruction to get out. “Scram, kid,” he said, and then- “ _Don’t write every single week, Mum, I’ll be fine!”_

Roy hesitated again.

Then, with a sigh, he just let the door swing shut by the motion of the train, and, hugging himself, started off down the hall again.

Most of the compartments he looked into were already full- which, granted, he really should’ve expected, given how late he was. He moved faster and faster as the train picked up speed, though, sure that whenever they really pulled out of the station people would start wondering the halls, and then he’d have an even harder time finding somewhere to sit. _Not here, not here..._  heart squeezing in a near panic right into his throat, he hurried through another door to hop into the last section of the train. What if there weren’t even any seats left? What if they had miscounted and there was one missing, and there wasn’t any seat left for him, and he was going to have hide somewhere for the whole trip and forever be known as the loser who showed up late on his very first day? What if-

_A seat!_

Roy swung to a stop, grabbing hard on the door to keep himself upright through the rickety motion of the train, and shuddered so hard through an exhausted sigh of relief he felt it down to his lungs. There. _There_. A seat.

He lingered there for a few seconds, searching all over for some sign that this actually was the blessing it looked like and there wasn’t a fourth kid hiding in there that would spring out as soon as he opened the door. But- no. No. It really was an empty seat. Right near the back of the train, a compartment with only three seats taken and one thankfully _empty_ one sitting right there. Even better yet, a quick glance at the others told him that they were first years as well. Like him, their robes were all black, lacking the house emblem they were all supposed to get after their first night. Perfect. _Perfect._ Three other first years. He couldn’t have found a better spot.

Well, he could’ve, if he’d managed to find a compartment for himself- but somehow, Roy didn’t think he’d actually want to kick off his seven years at Hogwarts by spending the whole day by himself, as nice as the idea might sound now.

He took a deep breath. He smoothed down and dusted off the front of his robes as much as possible. He took another deep breath.

Then, Roy wrenched the door open, and forced himself to smile.

“H-hello.”

Each of the three glanced around to face him, though it looked like they’d been losing interest in waving to the fading sight of the station, anyway. Roy, rather than stand there like a bug to be scrutinized, steeled himself again and pointed down to the empty space, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. “Can I sit here?”

There was a brief moment of surprise; then, the boy sitting next to what would become his seat for the next eight hours brightened and nodded, scooting over so he could have more room. “Be my guest."

And finally, for the first time all day, something had gone _right._

With a weak, fragile smile that hopefully looked nowhere near as pathetic as he felt, Roy nodded his thanks, swiftly ducking into the compartment to settle himself down into the space just as the train lurched loudly again, picking up speed for Roy to just barely seat himself in time. He managed another breathless grin to his new seatmate, trying to convey without words just how grateful he was for the seat, then finally started to turn towards the window to say goodbye.

All that greeted him outside, however, was the darkness of the tunnel.

They'd already left the station.

Roy's heart sunk, and his smile began to fade right with it.

_...bye, Aunt Chris._

A slow, awkward sort of quiet dominated the small compartment. Four strangers, by what it looked like, three other first years just like him who'd never met before, and now found themselves sandwiched together for an eight hour train ride. For just a moment, Roy found himself grateful for the silence, wanting to just catch his breath and reorient himself, settle in for the long, lonely ride- and then, before the silence had had the chance to settle and become uncomfortable, the boy next to him broke it.

"Hello, everyone," he said, pushing a little forward to sit straight on the edge of his seat. "Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy." He turned to him with the slightest of slick smiles, holding out one pale hand for him to shake. "And you are?"

"...Roy. I'm-" He licked his lips, face warming under the brunt of attention. "I'm Roy." He extended his hand forwards cautiously, accepting the handshake only for it to be grabbed in a tight, firm shake, the other boy radiating confidence and assuredness that only made Roy feel even more uncomfortable in his own skin than he already had.

Looking closer didn't exactly help his confidence, either. Lucius was a bit shorter than him, but that smug smile of his somehow took a few inches off Roy's total, his pale hair slick, stylized, and shiny, and wearing a neat sweater and tie that suddenly made him feel rather out of place in his already slightly patchwork robes.

(Despite his very best efforts, a leprechaun had stained the shoulder with a sprinkle of gold dust the very day he'd got them.)

In fact, looking around at the rest of the passengers in the compartment, he felt increasingly ill at ease and even more out of place than before. He and Lucius shared a seat while across from them was two other boys, each looking to be his age, each dressed neater than him, and neither looking at all as awkward as him. The boy by the window, indeed, had barely even looked at him since he'd ducked into the compartment, while the other was- the other-

Roy blinked hard, mind stuttering straight over on a double take so abrupt he nearly gave himself whiplash.

The boy directly across from him sat uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, bag huddled on his lap in his arms and shoulders hunched a little, as if he wanted to just wilt back into his seat and disappear there. (Roy could sympathize quite well with the feeling.) Dark-skinned and dark-eyed, with a short crop of dark hair, but... his face...

On his face was a jagged, angry white scar, twisted across his forehead and eyes in an ugly _x._ Roy was struck nearly instantly with the perverse thought of _X marks the spot_ and flinched, wanting to wipe the imagery away because it just felt _rude,_ but- well, it applied, didn't it? Just one massive X-shaped scar over his face and eyes, pale almost like a burn but the skin smooth in a way that didn't fit. Such an injury could've only been caused by magic, surely, but... _still..._

The boy coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat, and Roy almost jumped with his eagerness to look away. "My friends call me Scar," he said flatly, an obvious and pointed callout to the way Roy had just been staring at him, and a dismissal, at that, and Roy couldn't help a sheepish wince back.

 _Sorry..._ he mouthed, trying to will away the heat already warming his face.

Next to him, however, Lucius showed no such discomfort as he scoffed quietly, nestling himself back into his corner. "Scar?" he quoted, one eyebrow raising in what was obvious a gentle prelude to mocking. "What kind of a name is _Scar?"_

"...My name."

Lucius scoffed slightly again, all slimy and slick. "And what is that, there, on your face? Looks as if-"

"Oh, leave him alone, Lucius. He obviously doesn't want to talk about it, and what do you care about it, anyway? It's our first day; do you _really_ want to start it off being a prat?"

Lucius, mouth already set in mid-third-scoff-of-the-minute, started. His pale eyes widened, and his beginnings at a jab fell dead silent.

Slowly, him, Roy, and Scar all shifted around to stare at the last of them.

The boy who had so deftly disarmed Lucius before he'd even gotten off the ground still sat neatly in his corner by the window, legs crossed and his dark hair and eyes a contrast to his impeccably neat, pale sweater. Somehow, despite the fact that Lucius seemed to be trying very hard to ooze sophistication and class, this boy pulled it off better without even trying; perhaps that was the reason why- because it was plain Lucius was trying very hard, while for this other boy it just slid off him like a second skin. He gave them all the slightest of smiles, easygoing and charming, somehow, meeting all their stares without even the smallest hint of embarrassment. "Kimbley- you can call me Kimbley. It's very nice to meet you all."

They all blinked back at him in silent surprise. 

And then, at last, Roy began to relax.

The lingering thick tension, still dusty on the air like a thick coating of molasses, at last began to loosen. Roy found himself easing just a little more back against his seat, and across from him, so did Scar. Next to him, Lucius was clearly put on the spot, not at all used to being talked back to and now silently spluttering, his face colored just a hint red, and Roy could not help but grin. 

Maybe this train ride wouldn't be _totally_ awful after all.

* * *

After the breathless, bedraggled, near panicked rush Roy had hit the train in this morning, everything then lurched its way to so brutally it was reeling into mind-numbing, tedious crawl of _boredom._

The train rolled on. Despite Roy's initial interest in it, because, well, he'd never _been in one_ before, the novelty of it wore off before the first hour was even up: it was loud, and made black smoke trail on out the window, and it moved fast enough the countryside out the window pass them by at little more than a blur.

Interesting for ten minutes... totally not at all for eight hours.

There were another few awkward starts at conversation; Lucius kept trying to tempt Kimbley back into talking, clearly unsettled with how the first attempt had gone and wanting to reestablish himself as king, but Kimbley seemed almost amused by it. Like he was little more than an irritant fly buzzing around his head, and he was having fun smacking it away.

Roy, for his part, kept out of it... but looked towards Scar in between their peers' quiet words more than once, and nearly every time, found himself getting to share with him a slight, silently amused smile.

It was a little over halfway into the ride, when Roy's legs had long since gone sore and half-numb and he just wanted to curl up and stretch out all at the same time, and the conversation had reached yet another lull, when the door to their compartment slid open for the first time all ride- to reveal more sweets than Roy had ever seen before in his _life._ Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pastries, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans... it was as if a candy store had exploded and poured the refuse all before their door, so much of it Roy could've drowned happy in the pile and still had candy to spare.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" the witch asked them kindly- for Roy to finally realize there _was_ a witch, not just a giant moving pile of candy- and it took him longer than it should have for him to drag his head through a hungry, mournful shake and turn away. He'd _had_ some money set aside for the train ride, but it had been tucked into the front pocket of his trunk for him to take out when he got to the station.

He hadn't been anticipating getting there so late he'd had to jump to catch the train while his aunt had shoved his luggage underneath it.

"Sweets?" Lucius muttered under his breath next to him, voice dripping heavy with a disparaging sort of air. "No, thank you," and Roy had to resist the urge to roll his eyes again. What, was the boy trying to pretend he was too good for candy, now? Who did he even think he was fooling? 

"None for you?" Kimbley added on slyly, smiling a little. "Well, I'll take some." He dug around in his pockets for a moment, searching, then pushed to his feet to cross over to the trolley. "All on chocolate frogs, please."

Across from him, Scar roused out of his quiet little bubble at last, lifting his head just a little to watch as Kimbley exchanged a handful of coins for an armful of frogs. "You collect the cards?"

"Hm? Oh, no, not at all, actually- I've just got a real sweet tooth. Do you all want the cards?' Settling himself back down into his seat, the soon to be first year quickly freed three from their confines, then held them out for them all to take. "I've probably come across every card in existence before now but never bothered to try and collect any. Just not that interesting to me."

Roy actually didn't collect them, either, but wasn't one to say no to a free present. Shrugging, he reached out and took one at random, smiling back at Kimbley; Scar went right after him, and Lucius, after another awkward little embarrassed huff, finally took a card of his own. Roy had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at him _again-_ because Kimbley really had been right. Lucius really seemed dedicated to establishing himself as as much a prat as possible, and it was pretty much accomplishing nothing more than him looking as stupid as possible.

So rather than focus on his uppity seatmate, Roy resolved to orient himself around the two nicer ones, instead, and leaned to squint on down at his card, starting to turn it over in his hands. "Morgen le Fay," he murmured aloud, running a thumb over the description. "I've heard of her..."

"Van Hohenheim," Scar read off his, smiling a little. "We've _all_ heard of him."

Lucius frowned for another moment, still seeming to feel as if this whole affair was beneath him and wanting to show it, but like he had so many other times thus far gave in nearly instantly, turning down to his card with another sullen scowl... only for it to immediately brighten instead. His stubborn, stupid frown turned up into a stubborn, proud smile instead, and for perhaps the first time during the entire train ride, he  _didn't_ look like he wanted to sneer at them all. "Salazar Slytherin," he announced, and spun his card around for them to all to see. "I think I won the most famous draw."

Roy bit back an exasperated sigh, already lowering his card to his lap, but Lucius sat forward himself, looking around to them all as he continued to spin his card. "I'm supposed to end up in his house, you know. Every Malfoy since the school's founding has been a Slytherin."

"So you're a dynasty, then?" Kimbley asked glibly, his focus still more on his candy than the boy across from him. "Or are you wanting to be a rebel instead?"

This time, it was less of a scoff and more of a sniff, his classmate tilting his head away with such an uppity air Roy nearly burst out laughing. "And why would I want to do that? The Malfoy family didn't make our way to the top of society by being _Hufflepuffs,_ now."

Kimbley raised a slight eyebrow, head tilted against the window and absentminded attention still barely dragged away from his candy. Roy still found himself having trouble to take this brat seriously, but this time, Scar was the one to react, raising his gaze up from his card about their new headmaster in soft, restrained interest. "What's so bad about Hufflepuff?"

"What- _seriously?"_

Scar gave him a faint shrug, still frowning. "I'm not... reall from here. I don't really know that much about the houses."

This time, at least, Lucius' self-righteous sort of smirk finally faded, the boy somewhat almost preening at the chance to be useful. Roy wasn't so sure if someone so obviously biased was the best choice to give this talk- but, well, it wasn't as if Roy was too well-suited to give it himself. He knew _of_ the houses, of course; who didn't? But most of his human family wasn't from Britain, either, and most of those who came through his aunt's bar were not human enough to have attended Hogwarts... beyond a purely academic knowledge, the most he had was his aunt telling him to stop being such a Gryffindor when he dared the friendly neighborhood vampire to bite him.

... _What?_ It wasn't as if he was actually going to _do it_...

So Roy kept his own counsel, tight-lipped and silent, and he opted to watch as Lucius scooted back forward, already waving a hand about as he geared himself up for one heck of a lecture. "If you don't know anything about the houses, then you're lucky you wound up here- er-... _Scar._ It's easy to make friends with the wrong sort when you don't know what you're doing." He smirked a little again, splaying a hand over his own chest. "Like I said before, Slytherin is where everyone with _real_ potential ends up. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... it's supposed to be the smart house, you know- _wit beyond measure_ or something- but... but even with all the smarts in the world, you have to want actually _do something_ with them to go somewhere, is what my father says. I want to be more than just a dusty scholar reading some dusty books, you know?"

Again, at Lucius' smug eye roll, Roy scowled a little himself, by now mostly on default, because everything that boy said was so stupidly pretentious. This train ride couldn't end fast enough.

...even if he... actually agreed a little bit, with what he'd just said.

"Anyway," the little brat of an heir continued, still scowling to himself, "then there's Hufflepuff, like I said. I think I'd kill myself if I got sorted there." He snickered a little, rolling his eyes at the obvious jest, seeming to almost enjoy all the attention now. "It's for the rubbish who aren't extraordinary enough to fit into anywhere else."

This time, it was Kimbley's turn to laugh a little, the boy still playing with his chocolate frog rather than eating it. "That's not quite true. They are- _especially good finders,_ isn't that it?"

Lucius snickered darkly along with him, a shared gesture of amusement at something that felt a little like an inside joke while in the same breath all but inflating with glee, preening to be approved of by the other, far too slick boy. "If only they could find something worthwhile in themselves," he joked back, preening even further when his words got another small grin.

Roy, now decidedly uncomfortable, glanced back over at Scar. The guarded look on his face hid whatever he was thinking quite well, but just off the shadows in his eyes, Roy felt like he wasn't the only one not the biggest fan of where this was heading.

"And then there's- _Gryffindor-_ " he went on, sneering. "You don't want to be a Gryffindor. My father always says they're goody-two-shoes who don't know how to keep their noses out of other people's business."

This time, Roy finally did allow his irritation to give, just a little, softening his voice but not the prickle of anger wavering inside him. "Well, sometimes other people's business needs minding," he muttered, barely able to temper his words into an easygoing smile when Lucius whipped around to glare at him- but he meant far more than what he could really say.

He'd met plenty of creatures, stepped on by the likes of Lucius Malfoy, in his aunt's bar. Creatures. Not humans, but people all the same. People who'd been stepped on because society didn't consider it their business to mind what happened to them.

He hadn't known Lucius Malfoy very long, but somehow, in just these few hours, Roy got the feeling that he was _exactly_ the type to have elbowed past last week's werewolf so hard he'd knocked a tooth out, and that Lucius Malfoy was exactly the _wrong sort_ he didn't want to be making friends with.

And then, Kimbley cleared his throat again.

It was just a quiet, gentle little nudge of a sound, only obtrusive in that the boy was otherwise so quiet. That was all it was. Barely even a blip in the silence while Roy sat there avoiding all eye contact, and Scar sat there doing the same, and Lucius spent his time glaring at him as if deciding whether to be offended or not. But, in its gentle lack of obtrusiveness, it was someone a sound that tugged all attention back over to him- even Lucius, who looked almost eager for the approval again.

But at first, Kimbley did nothing beyond that little clearing of his throat, still so calm he was almost limp against the window, tugging with one chocolatey frog leg, bending it in his hands, silently smiling just a little. "You're looking at this all wrong, Lucius," he murmured, even with his eyes still only for his own hands. "Each house has different attributes, yes, but... it's not the house that makes the man. Sure, there are lone Hufflepuff losers, and there are dynasties of Slytherins who run the country, but... our Sorting is what you make of it. And I choose to make it a beginning, rather than an end."

He paused for a moment, still spinning the frog leg in his hand. Another slick smile slipped its way onto his face, all but chalk-pale in its complexion.

Something about it was...

Unsettling.

"Brave Gryffindors," he said. "Loyal Hufflepuffs... whatever others too secure in their own imagined superiority might say about it," and this, with a slim smile towards Scar and a disparaging glance towards a now white-faced, tight-knuckled Lucius. "Clever Ravenclaws. And, the ambitious dynasty proteges of Master Salazar, over there. Each house has the potential for something, and there's something I could work out of all of them..." He paused for a moment, dark eyes flickering around at them all in a silent evaluation so unsettlingly deep, it prickled past Roy's defenses on down to his very soul.

And then, he smirked.

"The only thing sadder than a Hufflepuff," he chuckled quietly, "is someone who shuts the book before the sorting's even begun."

There was an awkward, disquieting breath of nothing. Lucius sat very, very still beside him, eyes almost peculiarly wide, face slowly flushing a warm, reddening hue of embarrassment, while Roy abruptly found everything so uncomfortable he wondered if he'd have been happier sitting out in the hallway after all.

Then, he looked to Kimbley again.

Kimbley, who was still just sitting there, smiling slickly, and playing with his-

His... chocolate frog.

His slightly mushed, armless and legless chocolate frog that had been meticulously picked at, now fidgeting helplessly in his fist and making tiny, wilting croaks because that was all left that he was able to do. With an almost deliberate sort of slowness, even while Roy watched, just- right out in the open, even- Kimbley started to toss the quivering body between his hands, the poor thing making a tiny croak with each and every _slap_ against skin.

His stomach twisted, so shocked he wasn't even nauseous- and twisted even tighter when Kimbley glanced half-heartedly up from his hands to meet his eyes, and winked.

It- it wasn't weird. Right? It wasn't as if the chocolate frog was _actually_ a frog, or sentient, or anything more than an inanimate hunk of candy charmed to croak and hop. It wasn't as if it could feel pain...

"Or, that's just how I see it, anyway," Kimbley chuckled cooly, slouching back against his corner, and _smushed_ away every last bit of the frog in his hands.

Roy gulped.

* * *

The rest of the train ride, he, Lucius, and Scar spent in a complete, averted eyes, thick and dead silence.

Kimbley continued mutilating the frogs.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments/kudos!
> 
> Onwards!

If his morning rush to the train had been the most hectic start to a day in his life, his moon and candlelit approach to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was one of his most amazing ends to one.

Determined to not have his school year's beginning be permanently colored by a mad dash to catch a late train, Roy hurried to keep with the crowd the very moment their train reached the school. The boats had only carried four at a time, forcing him to stick still with the long since irredeemably uncomfortable group he'd been trapped in since that morning, but the moment they'd docked Roy had gratefully melted straight awaay into the crowd of first years, with Scar trailing right along with him.

Leaving bratty Lucius stuck with creepy Kimbley on his own, Roy already felt, had been his best decision all day.

But then he'd been enfolded into the thick throng, stumbling over the stones and feeling rather short, at that, lost in a sea of black as they were led straight into the school that was going to be his new home. Roy ended up stuck right in the middle of the crowd with Scar, barely able to see anything more than the tall witch leading them inside, and for that he was almost grateful- what little he could glimpse was already overwhelming. Portraits gossiping on the walls about them, staircases turning and drifting, at one point he was positive he saw a floating toad, for some reason-

"Hey! Hey, look at that! Up there! Is that a ghost?!" A hand abruptly grabbed at Roy's, tugging hard and pulling, and he looked around just in time to see the boy next to him point upwards, all but bouncing in excitement. "Is that a ghost?!"

"That-" Roy reeled himself, craning his neck backwards as far as he could to stare up above. There, indeed, was a somewhat bored looking- _ghost!_ Silvery and transparent straight through, cross-legged in midair and floating along as if carried by the faintest gust of wind, looking down at them all oddly as if they were a mere anomaly to be ogled at. "That's.. that _is_ a ghost!"

He'd seen ghosts before, but not very often; they'd tended not to find his aunt's bar the most fun place to visit and while Roy had hung out with vampires, werewolves, banshees, mummies- just about anything in the world that any wizard could name- he could count the number of ghosts he'd met before on one hand. He'd almost forgot that ghosts were just... _a thing_ , at Hogwarts. Just a commonplace, ubiquitous _thing._

As Roy watched, the ghost just kept on floating, staring hazily down at them, then softly just floated straight away, drifting straight through the ceiling without so much as a flinch. Roy all but gaped to see it, the ghost just now half in the wall, half out- and before he knew it, his face was stretching into a huge smile.

He was going to love it here.

Shaking himself, Roy looked back down at the boy who'd tugged on his hand, managing a small, uncertain sort of smile at him. He was a bit taller than him, in a gangly sort of a way, dark hair unruly and forest eyes sunny behind his glasses, the same wonder all across his face that Roy felt dancing in his own veins, and for the first time since he'd met Lucius and Kimbley, felt like he'd actually met someone who could be a good friend here.

"Hi," he said, a little breathless, a little nervous, sticking his hand out. "I'm Roy Mustang."

"Oh-" Still smiling back himself, the other boy blinked, then reached out to grab his hand, shaking so vigorously- probably nervous out of his mind, Roy realized- it felt as if his arm was about to be tugged off. "I'm-"

"Attention, everyone- attention!" The professor at the front of their crowd stopped at last, bringing their roving exploration to a halt as she turned around to face them, tall and stern and calm. She stood there up there, gazing sternly down at the gathered throng of students over narrow glasses as she waited for silence, and something about that witch screamed really, really loudly _do as I say,_ and cowed Roy- and all the rest of the group into silence- with nothing more than that.

And then, there- she smiled.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she greeted warmly, and stood back to welcome them all to the rest of their lives.

Here they were, then.

Here they finally were.

Roy only barely managed to grasp enough sense and stability to turn himself back around for just enough time to glance back at the glasses boy still next to him- catching him, in fact, just as he was looking back at them. Roy shrugged a little, offering up a sheepish sort of a smile, both an apology and a silent promise to pick this up later, and waited for the other boy to do the same. Then they both fell firmly back into silence together, and swiveled back around to listen to their new professor.

* * *

Roy had heard many stories about the Hogwarts Sorting, before that day.

Lucius' biased, twisted rundown had not been his first exposure to what he knew he was going to see tonight- or, likely, Roy suspected, his last. He'd lost count of the number of creatures over the years who'd taken an interest when they'd learned he was bound for Hogwarts... Former Gryffindors who always had the wildest stories who'd looked to him with light brightening in their (often red or otherwise otherworldly) eyes, ruffling his hair or cheering him on. Former Hufflepuffs who'd suddenly smiled, showcasing fangs or not, to meet a child willing to talk to them, offering him a bite from their meals and telling him stories about their first day. Former Ravenclaws, so often clutching half-written manuscripts or dusty old books to their chests, always with more answers than he had questions, over-eager and encouraging him to still ask away until he'd asked himself hoarse. Even former Slytherins, perhaps the rarest one but there was no shortage of them, either- once, he remembered, even a Slytherin ghost. The first ghost he'd ever met, actually.

All of them, and then, everything in between: Hufflepuffs midway through researching for a book and Ravenclaws burned from a life of dragon hunting, Gryffindors just looking to offer out a friendly hand and Slytherins traveling right alongside them. He'd met hundreds over the years, each one with yet another unique story to what they'd lived at Hogwarts and their own sorting, each adding yet another twist to all the nights Roy had sat up late in his own bed over the bar, imagining this very day.

Only one problem, really.

In all his dreaming, he'd never factored in how _heart-stoppingly terrifying_ it'd be to stand there with several dozen over kids, scrutinized by hundreds of his future classmates and professors, and minutes away from sitting himself up in a blazing spotlight to take a personality test in front of the entire room.

His stomach had already squeezed itself into a nauseating twist of an unbearable knot and Professor McGonagall wasn't even near his name.

That was probably the only good part about this, Roy realized in the feverish sort of panic, his heart racing and his hands shaking and his head dizzy as a spinning top as, still lost in the thick throng of students, he darted his eyes all over the overwhelmingly massive Great Hall. His name. A blessing and a curse, because at least he wasn't _first,_ at least he didn't have to stumble up there and let that huge oversized hat drop over his eyes first or second and sit up there dying for all the world to see, but now he was stuck just standing there, stomach flipping over and over and over, nerves escalating all the way up to the candlelit ceiling dozens of feet above, and powerless to do anything except wait.

Roy clutched his shaking hands into his robes, trying really, really hard to still them, and wished really, really hard to just wilt away and disappear straight into the floor.

The crowd around him dwindled down slowly, pick by pick. Some of the students were quick, not five or ten seconds and the hat was already booming out _**Ravenclaw!**_ or _**Slytherin!,**_ and to thunderous applause; a few others were fidgeting up on that stool in front of everyone for what felt like an eternity to _Roy-_ he couldn't even imagine what it felt like to them.

Before long, Roy didn't even care what house he ended up in. He just prayed that it would be quick.

And still, the names went on.

 _Heymans Breda..._ a short, fidgety redhead, one who nearly tripped on his way up the steps and who's face had flushed nearly as red as his hair... _Ravenclaw_ within seconds...

 _Riza Hawkeye..._ a silent and slight little blonde girl, face utterly blank when she fumbled around on the stool to face them but looking about seconds away from a terrified little squeak... _Gryffindor_ after a fidgety pause and dragging silence...

 _Maes Hughes..._ the gangly boy with the glass, Roy recognized with a jerk, nervous smile back in place even as, gangly or not, the sorting hat dropped right over his eyes and glasses to brush his nose. This time, he was stuck up there for almost a minute straight, twitching and fidgeting the whole time, before the hat declared him a Hufflepuff and Maes, sagging like a fern in the wind, stumbled his way over to the nearest table amid the applause to all but collapse with a beaming, exhausted grin.

Zolf Kimbley was called, before too long.

He was one of the shorter Sortings, and perhaps the first one this entire time who didn't sit himself up on the stool with eyes either huge and terrified or squeezed shut. He was declared a Slytherin after not very much time at all, and the look on his face when McGonagall lifted the hat up suggested he wasn't much surprised by this, either.

Roy remembered the chocolate frogs, shivered, and found himself very quickly blinking straight down at his feet, and again willing himself into the floor.

Lucius Malfoy was next.

The hat shouted out _**Slytherin!**_ before it'd barely even brushed the hairs on his head.

Roy smirked a little, managing a brief roll of his eyes at that one no matter the anxiety squirming deep in his own stomach. _Guess he wasn't kidding about being a dynasty..._

"Roy Mustang."

There was a dizzying heartbeat of silence. Roy's entire world wrenched straight into a nauseating halt.

That- that was him.

He was Roy Mustang.

That was- oh.

...

_Uh oh._

But before he knew it, his numb feet were already moving, the world slippery and fading underneath his feet because she hadn't had to call anyone's name twice yet, not once, and he wasn't going to be the first, no ma'am, so he stumbled forward no matter how numb he felt from the inside out. Numb, and terrified, and dead and near paralyzed on his feet, blind to the rest of the world and deaf to the entire whole universe except Professor McGonagall, waiting calmly up on the dais, and the old, grey raggedy sorting hat.

_Please be quick please be quick please be quick please be quick_

Roy, through some miracle he'd never understand even if he lived for three centuries more, made it to the stool without falling. He grappled weakly with numb, shaking hands, fumbling around to sit down, and then, trying really, really, _really_ hard to look up only to McGonagall, because he Did Not want to see the hundreds of faces and eyes that were now right on him. He tried for a smile, probably managed nothing more than a twisted grimace, and just hoped as desperately as he could to not throw up.

As terrified as he was- as desperately self-centered as his terror had spun his world-

Roy did not notice the faint whispering sweeping throughout the hall, as Professor McGonagall settled the heavy hat down onto his head.

_"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"_

The deep, disembodied voice echoed straight in his ears, for him and no one else, and Roy just couldn't help but flinch so hard he nearly rocked straight off the seat. He'd heard about this, too. How the hat would talk to only the wearer, its words silent to the rest of the world even if he stood in the middle of a crowd- or, as it was- a whole hall full of hundreds of people. A low and resounding echo, reverberations heavy around him as whatever thing it was inside it read his entire mind and entire life, his whole world turned blurry and dark from the folds of the hat hot over his eyes.

He gulped again.

 _"A second-generation, you are_ ," the hat purred, again straight to his ears and his ears alone, so low and insidious it felt like his heart had just taken a bath right in coffee. _"I remember you. So very much like your mother; I can already tell."_

Roy started, his eyes going wide underneath the shadows of the hat. Anxious words caught in his throat, the desire to talk back stumbling over the hundreds of eyes he _knew_ were still on him, just watching, waiting- because no one _else_ had talked back to the hat so far, so how could he-?

 _"Yes, I sorted your mother,"_ the hat said to him, gravely and almost smug, as if he could read his very mind. Perhaps, Roy realized shakily, he _was._ _"A good many years ago, now, but I remember every student I've ever sorted. And you remind me of her. The heart of a Gryffindor, through and through."_

His...

His mother?

Roy flinched a little again. This time, the anxious twist of nerves deep in his stomach, shifting and shivering at the mere fact that he was sitting up here and the whole room was staring at him, began to fade- as his emotions hauled him into something even more nervous and unsettled instead. Well... the hat seemed to be able to read his mind, so... _My mother was a Slytherin. Wasn't she...?_

 _"She was. I never said it was the heart that made the wizard... or the witch, as it were."_ The hat chuckled gently, as if at a joke only he knew, and then the heat was heavy around his head again, encroaching in around him to swallow him up from all sides. " _But you're not your mother, are you? Let's see here... a clever boy, too, so very clever. You could fit in in Ravenclaw, if that's what you wanted. Clever and open-minded; creative. And there's loyalty in you, too! There's a Hufflepuff in this head of yours!"_

The heat flooded deeper around him again, oppressive from all sides, and Roy, again, found himself helpless but just to sit there and listen to voice in his face, in his ears, in his _head._ Even with attention of the whole hall on him, in that moment, somehow everything about his world had narrowed down to become him, and the Sorting Hat. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all.

_Well... that's all very well and good, I suppose. But you still haven't said how I'm like my mother._

But to his continued unease, the hat chuckled softly again, a grating noise that felt like it was grinding down right into his skull. _"That's right, because you don't remember her much, do you? I can see it. Is that what you're asking me, really? Are you wanting for me to tell you about your mother?"_

_I..._

Another laugh came, this one louder than all the ones before it. _"I'm afraid to disappoint. I am not here to give family histories, I am here to sort you, child. And you have the heart of a Gryffindor, and, just like her, the blood of a Slytherin. Yes, I can see it now... you could be great, you know. You have it in you to fly, and Slytherin can help you on your way to greatness- just like it helped your mother! Is that what it is I see for you? Is that whose path you want to follow?"_

_...I- I don't know. I don't know anything about her. ...what did she-_

_"As I've said, the time for family trees is not today, child."_ The hat hmmed gently, a soft lilt of perturbation, so slow Roy could hardly bear it any longer... and then, this time, with finality- he spoke. _"Yes, I know just where to put you... you're a brave boy, and a clever one, and a loyal one, but there's something even deeper in you- something your mother wouldn't face- but she had it, too. There's something in you that wants more... and I see you strong enough to fight for it."_

His breaths quickened in his chest, face burning now even as his mind raced, the nerves in his chest fluttering back at last to suffocate under his own confusion. What was he _talking_ about?! His mother- _what do you mean?! Strong enough to fight for- what wouldn't my mother-_

_"_ _**Slytherin!"** _

_Wait! Wait-_

White light blinded him, a burning glare and deafening rush of sound swallowing him back up for him to inhale a shocked gasp of breath, blinking hard and reeling. It took him a moment to realize McGonagall had taken the hat off his head, and she stood there, even now, beside him, clapping calmly along with the rest of the hall.

And just like that, it was over.

Slytherin.

It took him a hard moment to shake himself, nearly alarmed, but all eyes were still on him and everyone was waiting and no matter how utterly lost and reeling he was, he was _not_ going to need McGonagall to push him away up in front of the whole school. He gasped hard, a great, shaking breath that somehow still felt shallow all the way down to his core, then gasped again, dizzy and stunned, and so lightheaded when he stumbled his way onto legs like jelly it was a miracle he didn't faceplant right there in front of everyone. He managed a wane smile to her, somehow, impossibly, desperately, still just utterly thrown, and he'd never understand how he managed to retain just enough sense to orient himself towards the Slytherin table, and keep walking.

As still lost and blindsided and surprised as he was, he didn't notice that the Slytherin table was not clapping.

Lucius, Kimbley, and Scar were already there- somehow they'd all ended up in the same house after all- and the instant his eyes found them he nearly sagged straight over with relief. Yeah, he wasn't thrilled to be sitting with the first two again, but Scar was all right, and he'd still rather sit with them then wind up alone and a complete stranger along that huge table of older kids. With another weak smile, he half-raised a hand in greeting and hurried over, sliding into place next to Lucius so heavily he nearly rammed his shins into the table.

"Hey," he gasped breathlessly, fumbling into place with another worn half-smile. Today had been exhausting and endlessly long and reeling, but the hard part was _finally_ over and he wanted nothing more to just sag onto the table and relax for the rest of eternity. "Hey, look at that! We're all in Slytherin!"

There was an awkward, thick silence.

One by one, his new housemates did nothing more than just stare at him.

And...

They did not look happy?

...

Huh?

"...What?" Roy queried uncertainly, his own grin starting to fade. He glanced down at himself in confusion, then back around at the boys he'd already spent all day with, hesitancy starting to claw at his mind. "What is it?" Why were they all just- _looking_ at him like that? Each one staring silently, earlier smiles slipped away, silent and featureless as rocks. Scar suddenly gone ice cold, Lucius almost peculiarly stiff with wide eyes, Kimbley just... _looking_ at him...

"What... what is it?" he asked again. Whatever confidence he'd at last reclaimed upon getting his house had all but completely fled now, and now replaced by a soft little squirm of unease, deep in the pit of his stomach. They'd all been talking with each other for the whole day, but now- what on earth had gone wrong? Had something happened before he'd come over to the table...? "What's going-"

"You're Mustang," Scar said suddenly.

Roy blinked. Slowly, even more confused than before, he swiveled around to stare at him in abject confusion.

While he hadn't exactly been one to smile hugely before, now there was not even a trace of anything even the slightest welcoming on his face, and his voice, to Roy's increasing unease, had faded to a monotone as dead as the frogs Kimbley had crushed. "You're... Professor McGonagall said," he said again, eyes huge and mouth slipped open almost like a gaping fish. "You're- Roy _Mustang?"_

"...Yes?" He looked uncomfortably around at them again, stomach knotting even tighter. What did his name have to do with anything? And why were they all _looking_ at him like that? "I'm- Roy Mustang."

Scar, however, just continued to stare. Eyes wide and face stuck in that unwavering stare, so stock still he could've frozen into a statue, for all Roy could tell. He said nothing at all, just _staring_ at him in dead, thick silence-

And then, with nothing more than a whispery scoff of disdain, Lucius pushed himself up beside him, turning away in a flurry of expensive robes and a hard shove of his hand. Roy gasped and jerked back, but wasn't fast enough to dodge as his untouched glass of water was sent careening into his chest and upturned all over him. Ice cold and soaking wet and a chill straight down to his spine, his chest and legs suddenly dripping and the front of his robes all sodden and so _cold_ it would've hurt if he hadn't been so _shocked._

"What the- _what- Lucius?!"_ he hissed, spinning around, _"What-"_

But the new Slytherin was already halfway down the table, back turned as he paced away in a silent disgust. Roy, soaking wet, incensed, and lost so deep in confusion it felt as if he was drowning, was stuck to just watch as he stalked off to sandwich himself back in among some other Slytherins further down the table. Other Slytherins who looked older, certainly strangers to him, and the move had attracted half the hall's attention, regardless- all just to get away from him.

Roy gaped after him in silent disbelief.

Until he realized, that he was not the only one staring.

Almost the entire rest of the Slytherin table was staring at him. From the older students right next to him all the way to the back of the room, almost _everyone_ in his new House was staring down at the table... at _him._ Not at Lucius Malfoy's abrupt breakdown and spilling of the water, but _him,_ with eyes dark and narrowed to glares just like Scar's, faces mired in varying degrees of hostility and dislike, everyone from the little first year girl right next to him to the huge sixth and seventh years all the way further down.

They...

They all looked like they _hated_ him.

Another round of polite applause echoed behind him, welcoming yet another student to their new house, and this, at last, seemed to break the spell. Most of the other Slytherins looked around, shifting back to focus on the front of the room to turn away from him at last, and with a rustle of disquiet finally lifted their hands to clap along with the rest of the hall, sullen and soft... but they continued on murmuring amongst themselves, and more than one just kept on staring down at him as if there had been no new Sorting at all.

Roy's insides curdled like sour milk, and, soaking wet and body freezing while his face now flamed hot, found himself helpless to do little more than just wilt in his seat, and stare down to his knees.

He did not see, from his position, the only one left smiling at the Slytherin table.

Zolf Kimbley, slight and silent as he slouched behind him, head propped up on one pale hand and eying over him in silence - and face settled into a very small, cold grin.

* * *

Things did not improve at dinner.

Nor did they improve after it.

 _Nobody_ had talked to him in the Great Hall save a few awkward mumbles from Kimbley. Barely anyone had even deigned to so much as look at him. Scar had sat across from him, cool and silent, barely picking at the feast and glaring at his plate the entire time. Roy found himself shivering the longer the night went on, his robes and shirt clinging miserably to his chest, and embarrassed, too, because he looked like a dreadful wreck- but it hardly mattered what he looked like, because no one was looking back at him to see him wet, slumped, and humiliated.

Roy had been hearing stories about the magnificent Hogwarts feasts since he was five. He'd been looking forward to eating one for himself for years straight.

He barely had the stomach to eat half of a plate.

When Headmaster Hohenheim rose up from his seat, calling for silence in the Great Hall and giving his start of term speech, he _tried_ to clear his head, he _tried_ to listen, because his day had started off a mess and his sorting had been a bit of a mess too but he still desperately wanted a good start to his schooling; he _needed_ to do this right- but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't. The words washed on over his head, lofty and elegant, but Roy's skin just kept crawling with the sensation of being stared at and his face flamed hot with every glance down at his sodden robes, and no matter how much he struggled to listen to a lecture about school rules and the importance of studying he just couldn't hear it.

Why had Lucius shoved him?

Why wouldn't Scar talk to him?

Why was everyone _staring at him?_

"Hey, Roy?"

His dissociated disbelief screeched to a halt around him, tugging him back to the present as he almost jumped from the start of it. "I- sorry, I- what...?"

But it was just Kimbley, standing up behind him with a small smile, half-reaching out to push on his shoulder to guide him upright. "Hey, what's up?" his classmate asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "We're going, now- they're showing us to our common room. Unless you want to sleep in here for the night?"

"I..." Fuzzy, Roy blinked around, staring around him in surprise to find himself one of the only ones still sitting down- and it wasn't just the Slytherins. The other houses were up, too, four massive crowds corralled into sloppy lines; in them he caught glimpses of students from before, a few scattered first years that he barely remembered from his sorting, and it took him a moment to realize that Kimbley was right. Shaking himself, he scrambled up to his feet, nearly upending his plate in his rush to hurry to join him to follow everyone else.

"I- sorry," he said again, managing a weak smile at Kimbley. "I was just... lost in thought, I guess. Thanks."

Kimbley just gave him an easy shrug, falling right into step beside him to lead him along faster, seeming just as eager as he was to not be left behind. "So, it looks like we're going to be classmates, then, doesn't it?" he prodded, gesturing to the other Slytherins up ahead. "I know what I said on the train, but... I'm actually a bit glad for it. Slytherin was the one I wanted the most."

"...right..." he murmured uncomfortably. Somehow, Kimbley's easygoing drawl only left him even more ill at ease, and he shivered again, tugging on his still damp tie. He'd actually wanted Ravenclaw, most, but that felt a little out of the question now- he certainly hadn't wanted Ravenclaw because he'd foreseen anything like _this._

He and Kimbley just moved quickly together in silence for a few moments, trying to catch up with the others. None of the other Slytherins were so much as looking at him, but somehow, looking at that thick, impenetrable wall of black before him, he didn't quite want to try his luck at breaking it, and let himself slow down just a few steps before getting too close. It was still hectic, at first, struggling to wring his way through three other houses, but even then Roy hung back-

Yet once they were gone, and it was only Slytherins that remained... even then, he couldn't bring himself to approach.

"...hey, um... Kimbley?"

"Hm?"

Roy fidgeted again, still tugging uncertainly down on his damp tie. The other boy was so casual it was disarming, and not in a good way. It made him feel even more self-conscious than his soaked robes already did.

But he hd to know, and so he breathed in deep, smoothed his rumpled tie back down as best he could, and tried again.

"Do you- did you... I don't know, did you notice how everyone- when I was Sorted-..."

Kimbley laughed, smirking at him. "Spit it out, Roy- and hurry it up, seriously, we're going to be left behind."

"I- hey!" Roy flushed as he was tugged along, Kimbley not even giving him the chance to comply with the command and instead just reaching out to grab him by the wrist, hurrying him along so they didn't get lost or forgotten. Grimacing, Roy rubbed at his face with his free hand and tried to keep pace with him, glancing nervously at the group of Slytherins still up ahead, their backs turned and clearly with no interest in looking back to him. "I was just thinking, everyone else got really- um, quiet. When I was Sorted, I mean, and when I got to our table. Everyone was staring at me, weren't they?"

"Hm?" his classmate murmured again, eyes still focused ahead. "I mean, sure, but everyone else got stared at, too. Didn't you see? Everyone was stared at during their Sorting."

"But..." Well- they _had,_ yeah. Roy had done it himself, staring at every other student whenever they got called up to be sorted, along with everyone else in the hall- but it wasn't the same. They'd stared at him and _kept_ staring at him, even after he'd sat down, and more than once during dinner he'd caught other Slytherins glaring right at him from up the table. They hadn't even been trying to hide it!

But... Kimbley seemed so sure about it...

"Then what about Lucius Malfoy?!" Roy demanded, pulling his hand back to himself so he could gesture at his stained front. "He spilled that drink on me; you saw it! Right after I was sorted!"

But, Kimbley just laughed a little again, smooth eyes barely even glancing down at his robes before he was rolling them heavenward and smiling so broad it felt like a lie. "Lucius Malfoy?" he quoted back, smirking. "Yeah, I saw, but you heard him all day long on the train today. He's more than a bit of a prat, wouldn't you say? He was probably just annoyed that someone with a pedigree less than a mile long would dare to sit next to him." He laughed again, patting him on the back. "He probably throws water at anyone less than an eight generation pureblood."

And with those words, Kimbley gave another warm, smug sort of laugh, and it was so infectious Roy found it difficult to not let himself be dragged right along with it. He was right, on that one... that was the exact sort of air Lucius had given off on the train, and Roy had heard stories about people like them before- even, if he thought about it really hard, the _Malfoys,_ once or twice. The Malfoys were _exactly_ the type of family to act like smug, pretentious jerks...

And, if he thought about it, Lucius had only turned angry when he'd heard his last name.

Maybe that was it? Maybe Lucius had just assumed he was more elite than he really was, but then he'd heard Mustang, and he'd heard something about Chris Mustang's bar, and he'd just assumed he was too high brow to _associate_ with someone like him...?

The more Roy thought about it, the more he wanted to accept it, no matter the unsettling seed of doubt still planted in his gut. It did make _some_ sense, after all, and Lucius Malfoy was the type of boy that Kimbley was describing- and, well, that was really all that had happened, wasn't it? Sure, there'd been some staring, but... maybe that had been because they'd seen Lucius throw the water at him and been curious what had happened. Maybe that was just... all it was.

Roy, as best he could, worked another stab at a steady smile onto his face. He looked to Kimbley nodded and tried to nod, and he willed himself as confident as he could be when Kimbley nodded warmly back.

Yes, he decided, as very firmly as he could. That was just all it was.

The long procession of students was led deeper into the castle, although while they proceeded on the crowd seemed to get smaller and smaller. Roy figured they were losing older students who already knew where the common room was, but still there remained a few as they were led on, always taking staircases down, exploring ever deeper and darker. He overheard whispers of gossip up ahead, that Slytherins lived in the dungeons by the Black Lake, that they had the fanciest dormitories in the castle and that was why they hid it down here, that the Gryffindors were so scared of the dungeons that they'd never ever show up down here.

He never heard his name in any the whispers, and this time, found himself relaxing even more- just enough to allow himself another tentative sort of smile.

Maybe it had been just him overreacting. Maybe it _had_ been just Lucius being a prat, and he'd imagined all of the rest of it...

"All right, everyone, gather around, please. First years, gather around!"

Roy stiffened, nearly tripping over his own feet to stop on time as the crowd in front of him finally hit their destination at last. Thank Merlin, he felt like he'd been walking all day... Stretching a little, Roy craned his neck so he could see as the last of the older students threaded their way out of the group at last, leaving around ten others alongside Roy, Kimbley, Scar, and Lucius included, and a group of older Slytherins right there at the top of the stairs.

The tallest one, a witch that loomed over them all and reminded him just a little of Lucius in the way she carried herself- and in the white blonde sheen of her hair- stepped forward to clear her throat, gazing implacably down at them all. "Good evening, everyone," she said, crisp and cold, and her sweeping gaze lingered on him for just a heartbeat before she moved onto the others, this time without even a breath of a pause. "Welcome to Slytherin house. This is your common room and dormitory, and will remain so for your next seven years here at this school. Barring extracurricular events, you will be expected to return here by curfew every night, or face the consequences. Am I clear?" She frowned for a moment more, still examining them all as if expecting an interruption or a question; when none came, she sighed with a jaded, cynical sort of air, and just continued on.

"I am Olivier Armstrong, Head Girl. Everyone else here with me is a Slytherin prefect. If you ever forget where our common room is or the password, any one of us can help you. Prefects from other houses can help you down here as well, but no one outside of Slytherin or professors should know our password. Yes, that includes all of your non-Slytherin friends, if you ever get the idea to try and sneak one in without us knowing." She shared a quietly amused look with some of the other prefects, clearly remembering back to some other such time when some hapless first year had tried such a thing, then turned her stern glare right back down to them, and smiled. "Not if you enjoy having friends who haven't had their heads transfigured into a rat."

There was an unsettling wave of unease through the silence, the other first years around him murmuring to each other, fidgeting.

Roy gulped.

No, he didn't think he was going to be trying to sneak anyone in any time soon.

When no one dared to speak up, probably because Olivier looked ridiculously threatening and hadn't even done anything yet but give a quiet speech, not to mention they were all eager just to get to their rooms already- at least, Roy surely was- the Head Girl simply gave a slight nod and swiveled around, facing back towards their dormitory. Or, what was going to become their dormitory, because the passageway had already smoothed back into a seamless, cold wall of bricks, one that looked just like every other wall around them... and gave Roy the feeling he was going to be saying the password to the wrong stretch of wall several dozen times his first week.

"Basilisk," Olivier announced, loud and clear.

The bricks neatly folded aside, sliding in on each other and parting out of the way, so silent and neat it was almost eerie, revealing a faint glow and warmth that had Roy on his tip-toes and his face stretching into a smile. He couldn't even see it but already, _already_ , just from that-

Oh, he was going to love it here.

Roy, already beaming, started to let go of his damp tie at last. He began to step forward.

Only to be met right in the chest by an elbow so hard it drove the very breath out of him.

The floor scraped under his feet; he felt it slide out from under him it near slow motion before he was in the air, a gasp stolen from his chest and panic eating his mind in free-fall, so fast and hard he choked. Then the stones were back, hard and unforgiving and _OUCH_ because he slammed into them and pain lanced through him from head to toe so brutal he nearly cried out, still shoved into even more shock than pain. What- _what-_

Roy shuddered down on the flagstones, gasping hard breath after breath and throbbing from head to toe like one massive bruise. What on earth- half-choking, he shoved at the floor, turning himself over to gape up at the other first years in equal parts rage and disbelief Kimbley wasn't even in sight, the prefects were all gone- most had already just filtered into the common room without even _waiting_ for him. Only three were even left outside, two girls snickering to each other while a boy he didn't know was standing with them, looking over his shoulder just so, and just- just smiling down at him.

They'd seen him get pushed, maybe he was even the one who'd done it himself, and they just... _stood there! Laughing!_ That wasn't in his head, this time, it was _right there!_ Where had Kimbley gone off to; why hadn't he seen this?!

And why on earth had that boy _pushed him?!_

"Hey!" Roy hissed, shoving up onto his knees. "Hey, what's wrong with you?! Why'd you do that?!"

The trio of Slytherins glanced at each other again. Snickering. Shaking their heads.

Then, one by one, they just turned away, and walked together into their common room, leaving him sprawled, bruised, and wide-eyed down on the floor.

"Blood traitor," the boy whispered over his shoulder.

Then, he was gone.

_...what?_

Had... had he just called him...?

 _...no, no._ Roy shook his head to himself, quickly rubbing a sore, scraped hand over his face. No, he'd just misheard him, that was all. Because that didn't make any sense. He knew what a blood traitor was, and it didn't make any sense for him to be called that when he done literally nothing except exist. Oh, and get water thrown at him by Lucius Malfoy. No, he'd just obviously misheard him. And- and the shove had been- well, it had been just an accident, of course, it'd been a crowd of students all eager to make it inside, and he'd just ended up on the wrong end of an elbow, somehow, that was all-

And _crap, now the wall was closing-!_

With a gasp, Roy scrambled desperately to his feet, sore and aching and tripping his way back up the stairs. He nearly fell over himself all over again in a frantic jump just to make it inside, and nearly pulled a muscle or two lunging up from the floor that fast after such a desperately hard fall, but-

But none of it mattered.

Because today has gone wrong in just about every way possible already, but he was still _determined_ to make it go right.

"Basilisk," he cried, " _basilisk!",_ scrambling step over step and just managing to grab against the edge of the secret door before it would've swung shut. Wiping a hand over his sore face again, Roy dragged himself straight inside with a heavy huff of air, and just couldn't stop himself from one sullen pout as he at last clawed himself to stand in his new common room.

To find Olivier waiting for him.

"I- sorry-" he fumbled, wiping at his face again. Everyone else was already just _gone._ They'd left him behind, and- crap, where on earth was his dormitory- "I... slipped, I-"

His Head Girl made a small, disquieting sort of _tsk_ in her throat, shaking her head back and forth. "That's the second time you were late today, Mr. Mustang," she said steadily, crouching just a little down to survey him with narrowed eyes. "Yes, I saw you getting on the train. I remember you, because you were the very last one. And now you're late again- this time looking like _this."_ She brushed a hand over him, nudging his face up and out of the way with a cold, almost clinical practicality, and it took Roy a moment to realize she was glaring at his clothes.

His robes, now dusty all over from his recent collision with the floor, still stained and ugly from what had happened at dinner. His tie, sloppy and wet. His shirt, stained too, and somehow missing more than one button.

Color flooded to his face all over again, and whatever little bits of bravado he'd managed to claim were wiped straight out, just like that.

He... looked terrible.

He'd not even been here at Hogwarts a whole day, and he looked absolutely _terrible._

Yet even as he stared down, flushing and miserable and just dead on the spot, Olivier was tugging at his tie, straightening it, re-tightening the knot with deft fingers and scowling all the while. "You'd best start shaping up, Mustang. It's only a first day, and you're not making the best first impression. That may cut it anywhere else, but you're a Slytherin, now- we have higher standards here, and I expect you to meet them."

Roy stared up at her, rising shame sickening him to leave him stuck right in a sea of disbelief. The words sat like lead in his throat, protests _but it wasn't my fault_ and _but I'm already trying_ and _THEY pushed ME,_ but he was so taken by surprise by the sudden approach he didn't even come close to knowing how to say any of it. He just stared at Olivier, working his mouth open and shut, half wanting to defend himself and half wanting to just wilt to the floor and die on the spot.

How did everything keep going _wrong?_ He was trying- he'd been trying since sunrise this morning, fighting to make everything be perfect- but now here he was, damp, sore, and being chewed out before even his first day. He hadn't even made it to his room and he was already doing things wrong.

Olivier evaluated over him for several tense moments, eyes still narrowed- and this time, in what prickled at him in shame and humiliation as abject disappointment. She shook her head again, both hands moving to his tie to _tug,_ so neat and tight he nearly choked, and came even closer to letting out a despairing whimper.

"Get up to your dormitory, Mustang," she told him flatly, giving his shoulder a slight, firm push. "And do better tomorrow."

But...

He'd already tried his very best today.

It was pretty clear, though, just by the mere look on Olivier's face, that she was not interested in hearing any of his explanations or excuses.

Roy swallowed hard against the too tight knot of his tie. He nodded.

And the very second he could, shame flooding his cheeks and so sick in his stomach he barely had the strength to move, he pulled away, and stumbled towards his room as fast as he possibly could.

Roy knew all his things had already been delivered to his dorm during the feast; maybe even right after his Sorting- all that was left was for him to find where they'd been delivered _to._ But everyone else had already left him behind, leaving him completely alone, out here, the only first year still yet to find his room, and realizing that left him feeling even worse as he stumbled uncertainly up the stairs. Uncomfortably silly, out of place, and dumb.

He would just- have to do better. That was all. Today had messed up a lot, but even if it wasn't his fault it didn't matter. He'd just have to do better tomorrow.

Some of the miserable tension tightening in his chest at last loosened, the first breath he'd taken that didn't hurt in hours when the first door he came to had a silvery, elegant _1_ painted alongside black wood. Fluttering along next to the number in the same faintly magical script was his name, something that swept him with even more relief than before- until he actually read the other three names printed along with his.

_Arcturus Black, Zolf Kimbley, Lucius Malfoy, Roy Mustang._

Oh. Great. _Malfoy._

With yet another rough, shaking breaht, Roy swallowed hard and shook his head at himself, eyes squeezed shut to try and fight back a wave of hopelessness. He wanted this year to go _well_ , and that wasn't going to happen if he just kept moping about everything. Besides, he was with Kimbley, too! Kimbley had been nice to him. _There you go, Roy, see? A silver lining. Everything's fine. Everything's fine... Come on, Roy..._

With another heavy, heavy breath, Roy worked a weak smile back onto his face as determinedly as he could. Then, every part of him set and focused on ending this day better than it had started, he pushed into his new room.

Four neat, lavish beds, each draped in snakelike green and arranged precisely throughout a spacious room lit by a white, magical glow from floating lamps. Large, heavy windows half shielded by green curtains, half not, just barely parted enough to reveal the deep, clear water of the Black Lake outside, so prominent Roy nearly started to realize that they _were_ , in fact, underwater. Four waiting luggage trunks, and Roy flushed to recognize immediately which one was his own, not because it was the only one untouched, but it was, by far, the cheapest one.

And three other boys.

Each one, midway through unpacking themselves when he'd stepped inside, had stopped that very instant. Each one, one by one, stared up at him.

Roy shivered again.

And... nobody else was even trying to talk.

Or do anything but just stare right at him.

Great again.

"...Hi?" he ventured at last, one hand gently raising up in a terrified hello, because _someone_ had to do it. "Nice to meet you all? Again?"

There was another uncomfortable silence.

Then, with the slightest of pretentious scoffs- _again-_ Lucius turned away, digging back through his things. The other boy, the one Roy hadn't met yet but by the names on the door, he could only assume to be Arcturus Black, made the same sort of sound, a tiny and irritated _hmph,_ and stared straight down to his own luggage _-_ the same boy who'd pushed him outside, Roy realized, stomach twisting so hard he nearly whined. Kimbley was the only one to even look at him at all, Kimbley was the only one to smile, raising his hand back in greeting and nodding him in further, as if everything was okay.

It wasn't okay.

Roy could feel it.

With another deep, shaking breath, Roy shook himself, forcing his feet to move and his hand to drop off the door, determined to make all of this go _right._

With as much calm as he could wrench up from his own knotting stomach, Roy dragged himself in, first turning towards Arcturus. Or, more properly, Arcturus' turned, sullen back. "Hi," he said again, softer now, because _no one_ was talking and- and why was it so quiet? Why weren't they- he was _talking_ to him, why wasn't he turning around-? "Hi, um, I'm Roy. I'm sorry for yelling at you, outside. I... I thought you'd pushed me, and- it's not really been a great day for me but I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

The first year, however, just kept on sifting through his things. Even more violently than before, now, yanking clothes out of his trunk to just toss them on his bed, once thumping a book down so hard to the mattress Roy nearly flinched.

Other than that, however, he did not react to being spoken to at all.

Roy shifted uncomfortably. Some of his own confidence wilted up on the spot, withering like a drowned flower, and died.

Then, with another deep, shuddering breath, and every last scrap of determination he could muster, he tried again.

"Hey, Arcturus? That's your name, right? I'm Roy, I- just wanted to apologize... I guess I'm rooming with you and wanted to get... off on the right..."

But the boy still would not even _look_ at him.

Okay, now Roy was starting to get annoyed. He was trying to do the right thing! He was trying to fix this; why wasn't anyone letting him?! "Look, I'm sorry, I-" Gritting his teeth, Roy reached out, moving to tug at his shoulder. He would _not_ be ignored. "I just wanted to say-"

" _Don't touch me!"_

"I-"

"I said don't touch me!"

This time, Roy had been ready for it, knees braced and one hand carefully grasping the edge of the bed.

That was the only reason why his second shove of the day didn't land him back down on the floor.

Roy gaped in disbelief, but it didn't matter, because his classmate- now roommate- wasn't even looking at him now, either. Just one quick, violent shove at his chest but before he'd even started to lose his balance, Arcturus had turned back around, digging again through his things and even angrier than before- and utterly blind and deaf to Roy right behind him.

What?

But-

But he'd just-

_What?_

Roy stared on, face flaming hotter and hotter, uncertainty poisoned with rage coursing through him higher and higher until he could barely think. He wasn't imagining it. He wasn't! It had just happened _again,_ right there in front of his face! Why had he just- he _hadn't_ imagined it, not this time, he couldn't have-

"Hey, Roy, what're you doing over there? Come on, your stuff's over here."

Roy spun around, staring back over to find Kimbley gesturing him over from the other side of the room, genial smile right in place, so easygoing it was insane. Because Kimbley didn't look like he'd even heard any of it, casual as could be... and Lucius still had his back turned firmly, ignoring it all just like before...

Why was he the only one noticing all of this?

Why did no one else care but him?

Kimbley gestured again, this time nudging his trunk. Lucius and Arcturus both stayed with their backs turned, sorting through their things without another word.

And Roy, stunned, sick to his stomach, wet, and now, hurt- was just as completely lost as before.

And, after several moments of uncomfortable, terrible silence, found himself with no choice left to silently cross the room with a face still burning bright red to join the only person in his class who was willing to even talk to him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Scar- while he's gonna drift out for a few chapters now, he gets a backstory near the end :) However, he was destined for Slytherin.
> 
> Because I needed a Slytherin friend for Roy the end ^_^
> 
> Anyway, see you next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos/comments!!!

Roy's first night at Hogwarts was terrible.

And his first week at Hogwarts was, as his aunt would say, then tell him to go wash his mouth out with soap for saying it after her: hell.

* * *

It was 9:10 in the morning when Roy scrambled his way at last onto the nearly deserted second-floor corridor, gasping so hard his stomach felt like it was splitting in two, already soaked in sweat, and heart pounding so violently he could feel it pulse right in his head.

Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall did not start at 9:10AM.

But that was still the time as he at last threw himself to the class door; he saw it, in the huge, ancient clocktower just out the window, and it was still that time as he wrenched his way through the heavy, criminally, stupid _loud_ door open and shoved himself inside. A little bubble of relief expanded in his chest when he saw it was, in fact, where he was supposed to be, every eye turning to him in a humiliating instant, but Roy had been ready for that, so even when his flushed hot face flushed even hotter and his screaming stomach squirmed, he forged on ahead, and made for the nearest empty seat he saw.

"Mr. Mustang?"

Annnnd-

Of course.

Cringing, both inside in the miserable twist to his stomach and on the outside as his shoulders hunched and dragged him down, almost to the floor, because disappearing down into the floor was five thousand percent preferable to _this,_ Roy looked up.

McGonagall was not happy.

At all.

"I'm- s-so sorry-" he panted, nearly wheezed it, but the way she just _stared_ had him frozen on the spot and he couldn't will himself to move even a single inch. "I got- got lost- I know I'm late, I'm- I'm sorry, Professor, it'll n-never happen again-"

Not exactly true, but before that withering stare, it was the closest he could get to the truth.

McGonagall frowned at him again, arms folding in an uncompromising glare. The chalk behind her continued moving, writing out some lesson or another that he'd obviously burst right in the middle of, and about half the class kept on dutifully copying it down. Roy tried really hard not to pay attention to what the other half was up to.

"Yes, Mr. Mustang, you are late," she said tartly. "That is, in fact, how I know your name: because you managed to be so late everyone else, even the other stragglers, beat you to class. You are the only person left on my roll who had not yet arrived."

Roy nearly wilted to death right there on the spot. This time, he couldn't ignore what the rest of the class was doing, because their snickers were so audible they burned at his ears- and it wasn't just the Slytherins laughing.

So much for making a good first impression.

McGonagall cast another critical eye at him, frowning even more severely than before. Even from across the room, Roy could just _feel_ her eyes lingering on his state of dress- his wrecked hair, his missing tie- and to his eternal misery, her frown creased even deeper than before. Shaking her head, she primly turned her back to return to the blackboard, as if judging him worthy of no more attention than that, and returned her whole focus to the lesson. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Mustang, due to your lateness, and your attire. Sit down, and take care to arrive _on time_ next class, or it will be more."

The snickers were louder this time, and entirely contained to the Gryffindor side of the classroom. The laughter on the Slytherin side abruptly stopped- and very swiftly blurred into a series of glares instead.

Roy withered back on the spot.

_Please melt into the ground, please melt into the ground, please melt into the ground..._

He did not melt into the ground.

He supposed mental-death-wishes-wish-fulfillment was a bit more advanced than first year Transfiguration, but, if he didn't sit down soon, McGonagall might well glue his feet to the floor, so instead of running away, or wasting any more time wishing for his own death or explosion or disappearance, found himself meekly giving her back one shameful little nod, then dropping into the nearest seat that he could find.

And, conveniently- in fact, perhaps the first thing that had gone right all stupid _day-_ said seat was right next to Kimbley.

Roy ducked his head, digging miserably into his bag for his textbook to try and hide his face behind it but glaring at Kimbley from behind it at all the while. "Hey!" he hissed, as loudly as he dared. "Hey, Kimbley! What happened?!"

His classmate glared right back at him, mouth twisting in such a sick, poisonous anger Roy would've flinched back- if he hadn't already been so annoyed himself. "Yeah, _what happened,_ Roy?" he parroted back, hissing it behind his textbook. "Where were you?!"

"Me? Where were _you?!_ I waited for you all morning! I waited in our room, but you weren't even there when I woke up!"

Kimbley all but snarled at him this time, jerking forward to curl a hand over his half of the desk, teeth bared and face sneering in a loathsome disgust. "I _told you,_ we'd meet in the Great Hall. _I_ waited for _you_ so long I was almost late, you prick!"

"What?! No, we-"

"Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of us, Mr. Kimbley? Mr. Mustang?"

Both of them jumped, jerking back around to look up. McGonagall wasn't even looking at them, hadn't even _turned around,_ but now that Roy was looking up he realized how loud his whispered argument had to have gotten from all the eyes that were right back on him- and none of them friendly.

Roy swallowed hard. He slunk back in his seat, and again wished desperately for the ability to just melt down into the floor and never be seen again.

"...no, ma'am," he whispered, and slunk his gaze straight back down to his chest.

Yeah, today really wasn't going to go any better than yesterday, was it?

Yeah.

It wasn't.

Roy slumped again in his seat, so despairingly he nearly dropped his face to hide right into his hands, and used every last bit of strength he had to hold back a groan.

None of this was going to go any better at all.

Roy's night before had not gone any better than his day on the train. It was still bewildering and confusing and he had no idea what to make of it- still half-convinced it was all in his head... because otherwise he just didn't know how to describe it.

He and his new roommates had sat up a little late into the night, talking to each other about where they were room, their classes, what they were looking forward to most. Or- _Lucius, Arcturus_ , and _Kimbley_ had, anyway. Whenever Roy had tried to say anything, the rest of the room had just talked straight over him like he didn't even exist. Kimbley had been the only one to even respond to him at all, sitting there on his bed with that strangely small, slick smile, running a hand down his equally silent, small, pure white cat, head tilted to the side and eyes just... unsettling.

It hadn't taken too long for Roy, sick to his stomach and even sicker at heart, to grow so exhausted of trying to talk to a room that was mostly treating him as if he didn't exist that he just gave up.

He'd gotten himself ready for bed in silence- been treated to a few muffled, smug snickers at his pajamas that had made his stomach twist all over again, because his clothes were _fine,_ but weren't the finely embossed, silk sets Lucius and Arcturus were parading around in- and huddled himself around his pillow, desperately just wishing for the morning to come. It had been then, Roy remembered, that Kimbley had offered to walk with him to class the next morning. That none of them knew where they were going, but if they were going to get lost, why not get lost together? That they should walk down to breakfast together and try and find their way from there.

Roy remembered that specifically. He was _sure_ of it. He was positive that the plan had been to walk down to breakfast together.

Except he'd woken up, and Kimbley hadn't been there.

Neither, actually, had most of his stuff.

And that, then, had wound up as the second reason why he was so late. Because when it had gotten later and later, and Kimbley _still_ hadn't shown up until he'd just had to accept he wasn't coming, Roy had had to decide to leave on his own- but he'd needed his things to do that. And he'd woken up, and they hadn't been there.

It had taken him twenty minutes to find his textbooks, from sandwiched behind lamps to stuffed into pillowcases to, in one very particularly strange case, glued- hexed?- up on the ceiling. It had taken him an extra ten more minutes to give up on finding his ties.

Then, in such a panicked rush he'd barely been able to think over the pounding in his head, he'd sprinted through an utterly deserted common room, far too late to even think about breakfast, and, with the help of the portraits on the walls, because almost everyone else was already in class, finally found his way up here.

That he was _only_ ten minutes late, _only_ missing his tie, was a gigantic miracle.

Except...

_No, no..._

Roy dug deeper in his bag, horror coming back all over again, because _where was it?_ There was his wand, there was his books, there was his quills, but- where was his parchment?! He'd packed it last night, he remembered it, he remembered sliding a thick notebook into his bag right next to his quills, but it wasn't there! Where was it? He hadn't checked for that before leaving this morning- but he shouldn't have _had_ to, because he remembered putting it right there last night...

Just like he remembered Kimbley promising to walk with him to breakfast.

Almost immediately, doubt clenched at him again.

Maybe...

Maybe he hadn't...

"Hey," Kimbley whispered suddenly next to him, softer than before. Roy nearly jumped straight out of his seat, wanting to pull away, but before he could even look up from his desk his classmate was pushing a spare sheet of parchment over to him, and gently nudging Roy's hand right back over to it.

Roy blinked, startled. Halfway in disbelief, he stared over at Kimbley again.

His classmate wasn't looking at him, still obstinately just scribbling away at his own notes. But, when Roy's gaze landed on him again, this time, it was to the smallest, gentlest of genuine smiles."Just use it before you get us in trouble again," he murmured, but softer, now not annoyed but a gentler sort of teasing- and then just went back to his own notes.

Roy, still sweaty, embarrassed, tieless, and in pain, gawked at himfor several shocked moments.

Then, everything in him just gave in, because he was just way too exhausted and confused to hold up any sense of anger at his generous classmate at anymore, and, banishing away all the rest of his doubts, Roy smiled back, and buried himself into his work.

* * *

Transfiguration passed on in relative peace, after that... even if Roy _did_ spend the first half hour at least just trying to get his breath back. And stop his stomach from hurting from running a marathon first thin in the morning.

But, as irritated as she'd been with him, as she probably still _was_ with him, McGonagall had at least left him alone after that, and with him sitting with Kimbley, so had the rest of the other Slytherins. The class was made even easier for the fact that Roy knew he had Potions directly after- this time, he _definitely_ couldn't be late, not unless everybody else wanted to be late with him, because he could just follow them all back downstairs from Transfiguration.

Besides, Potions was taught by Slughorn. His brand new Head of House. Roy hadn't met him yet, barely even remembered what he looked like, he'd been so distracted yesterday, but- well, surely, Slughorn would be kinder to him than McGonagall. Just based on House alone, he knew that much. Roy may not have shared Lucius' ridiculous preference for Slytherin, but from all the stories he'd heard over the years, that seemed to have been the one constant- Gryffindors hated Slytherins, and Slytherins hated them right back.

It made sense, then, really, that McGonagall wouldn't like him. But Slughorn was a Slytherin. Just like him.

So Potions was just going to have to go better, then.

That was the only option.

So the rest of Transfiguration passed on in relative peace. Roy was able to avoid attention by keeping his head down in the very back and not letting himself whisper even another word for the rest of class. McGonagall assigned homework and her gaze lingered on him for an extra moment longer than everyone else when she said the due date, as if she expected him to be the one to miss it; Roy swore to himself then and there that he would _not,_ no matter how hot his face felt in that moment, and then, with a wave of her hand, they were dismissed... and once again, her sharp eyes lingered on him when she told them to get going, so they made it to their next class on time.

Roy gritted his teeth, cheeks burning, and gripped his desk so hard his knuckles faded white.

 _It WASN'T MY FAULT,_ he wanted to scream- and for a moment, the whirlwind of his missing tie, his hidden textbooks, the shoves last night, missing _Kimbley_ all roaring in his ears, he very nearly did.

_No... come on, Roy... you can still make today go right... come on..._

So he'd been having some pretty unforgivably rotten luck, so far. So he'd been dreaming about Hogwarts for years and so far _nothing_ had gone right. That didn't mean anything. It was all just a series of bad coincidences and misunderstandings, one after the other. And it sucked, but he knew if he gave in to it and let himself sulk, it would only make things worse.

He could still turn this around.

So when class finally ended, with more than one judgmental frown from McGonagall and far more than a dozen irritated glares from his fellow Slytherins, Roy didn't allow himself to do anything more than simply gather his things in silence, and get up to leave. Most of his other classmates flat out ignored him again, but, honestly? After costing them ten points earlier today, he couldn't even blame them.

Kimbley waited for him, though.

The only one, so far, who would even talk to him- Kimbley waited.

Part of Roy's own guilt, embarrassment, and shame softened at last, and he finally managed another little smile.

"Hey, um... thanks," he mumbled awkwardly, lifting up the borrowed parchment before stuffing it right back into his bag. "For that. I... I don't know what happened to mine, I could've sworn I packed it..."

Kimbley just shrugged again, waving him on. "No sweat."

A little bubble of relief expanded inside him, just like that. Kimbley didn't even sound _mad_ at him. Not after he'd had to borrow parchment, not after he'd cost them points, not after how much of a mess he'd just been all day long... the gratitude for someone just being willing to _talk_ to him... his face flushed all over again, a heat that quickly morphed into shame, when he remembered how he'd first treated Kimbley when he'd gotten here. "And- and about earlier-" he rushed, "I- I'm sorry, I really thought we were supposed to meet in our rooms... I guess I just misheard you before; I'm really sorry, Kimbley..."

But his classmate just smiled unerringly again, waving off his apology as if it was nothing more than a bothersome fly. "Don't worry about it, it's not a big deal... hey, I mean, at least _I_ got breakfast." He smirked a little, patting Roy on the shoulder as they walked on. "Just actually _listen,_ next time."

"I-..." _I thought I did... I'm sure I did... I keep listening this whole time, I'm super, super, super, super sure that I DID..._

Kimbley grinned lightheartedly to him again. He was, again, Roy realized, with a peculiar tightening in his chest, the only one to smile at him since his Sorting the night before.

His protests all deflated, with nothing more than the whimper of a popped balloon.

"...okay."

* * *

Roy made it to Potions with Kimbley, at last on time, at last _not_ in making an embarrassing fool of himself, and at last found himself relaxing at least a little for the first time all day. Nothing could go wrong, at this point, and he was _sure_ of it. He had his textbook in his bag- he'd triple-checked- he had parchment from Kimbley, he wasn't late, it was only the first day so he _couldn't_ have forgotten any assignments- finally, _finally._ Everything was going right, or, at least not _wrong,_ and this was literally all Roy had been asking for since he'd hurtled onto the train five minutes past time yesterday morning.

He was _going_ to have at least one good hour today, and nobody, not even Lucius Malfoy and Arcturus Black hiding his things, could stop him.

Again, Roy found himself settling near the back of the classroom, Kimbley on one side of him and a collection of Gryffindors on the other. None of the Gryffindors would really look at him, either, but at least Roy didn't feel alone, in that- with every cursory glance he sent their way, they seemed reluctant to look at _anyone_ from his house, not just him. Lucius and Arcturus, meanwhile, had planted themselves right up near the front of the room, far enough away that it'd take a feat of athleticism for them to even reach back to his desk.

Smiling a little to himself, Roy dug for his notes out of his bag again and settled himself in for what he was determined to be a completely calm, uneventful, peaceful class.

"Good morning, students!"

Roy nearly jumped, flinching around at the sudden slam of the dungeon doors, and this time, he wasn't the only one. He glanced back barely in time to catch just a glimpse of the Potions Master, a flurry of ostentatious, colorful robes as he swept up to the front of the room, a portly and already decidedly cheerful man and one that instantly made him feel far more at ease than ridiculously stern McGonagall.

"All in the right place?" he called, threading his way through the desks to the front of the room, sending vials sorting and potions floating throughout with a mere wordless wave of his wand. "First year Slytherins and Gryffindors, looking for potions? Just making sure- every year ends up with whole gaggles of first years wandering around lost for weeks; want to make sure everyone is where they're supposed to be."

Roy glanced over at Kimbley, sharing a brief, surprised grin, then eagerly right back up to their professor. Already, some of the lingering exhaustion and misery in his shoulders was just melting away, subsiding after so long it was almost painful, but they were subsiding at last and that was really all he'd wanted. A weak smile tugged its way onto his face, unbidden, and for easily the very first time all day he at last like something was going to go right.

_See? It's not that bad. He's nice! He's not like McGonagall, he's actually nice! It'll be fine..._

Roy grumpily wondered, for just one unhappy moment, what _Slughorn_ would've done if a first year had turned up late on the very first day. In this stupid castle of moving staircases and disappearing doors and _no stupid maps._

Probably not docked stupid house points, that was for sure.

Meanwhile, though, Slughorn was already bustling around at the front of class, still waving his wand about at random, directing supplies about the classroom. "You can all keep your things away for now, I'll get more into the class in just a moment- first I want to just be able to meet you all! After all, as you know, you're going to be in my class for five years, now... and a certain talented few of you for even longer. I've found it works best to start things off on the right foot, wouldn't you say?" He smiled to them again, all big and warm, facing the whole of the class with sheet of parchment in his arms and something about him that just made Roy feel welcome. "I'm Professor Slughorn, as many of you may have already known. Head of Slytherin House, Potions Master, and crystallized pineapple connoisseur. Very nice to meet you all; very, very nice. Hopefully, we'll all get to enjoy a very good relationship for as long as you're all willing to sit in potions."

Roy smiled a little more, letting himself sag down against his desk, and he wasn't the only one. In fact, he could almost _feel_ the lingering tension about the room dissolving like one of Slughorn's wordless spells had been to cut straight through it and shred it up with a knife. Other students were relaxing back against their own seats, sharing smiles with each other, nudging and murmuring vague words of relief- and if Roy had been sitting with someone a bit more approachable, he probably would've been doing the exact same as them.

After two hours of Professor McGonagall this morning, it was just really, really nice to wind up in a class with a teacher who _didn't_ radiate an aura of _unforgivable if I so much as find your shirt untucked._

Maybe today wasn't going to be so bad after all.

"All right, now- let's begin!" Slughorn turned first towards the Slytherin side of the classroom, beaming still, and headed right for Lucius and Arcturus' desk first, still smiling enough that Roy almost couldn't believe it. "I know none of us have been properly introduced, yet, but I try to pay a particularly close attention during the sorting, and I think I remember... Lucius Malfoy, is that correct?"

This time, Roy could see him preening from all the way in the back of the room.

"Yes, sir, that's correct," Lucius said slyly, all but radiating the smuggest air in the whole room. It was perhaps a wonder that his head hadn't gotten so fat with his self-importance it hadn't just exploded. "Very nice to meet you, sir."

"And you're Abraxas Malfoy's son, is that correct? Abraxas Malfoy, of the Malfoy estate?"

"That's my father, sir," Lucius said again, just as sly and smug as before, and Roy could barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes skyward.

A gentle nudge to his side had Roy glancing around to find only Kimbley, smirking again next to him. _"Prat,"_ he mouthed, and this time, Roy had to muffle his mouth behind his hand just before he laughed aloud.

With Roy sitting in the back of the classroom, he got the chance to finally be left alone for a bit, just watching and listening as their professor slowly worked his way around the room, speaking with each and every student and not missing a single one. At first, Roy found it rather nice, almost touching- a Head of House who actually wanted to _know_ his students, so much more than McGonagall just frowning at his lack of a tie, _wow, look at that_ -

But then, he actually listened closer to what Slughorn was saying.

As the Potions Master worked his way around the room, Roy realized he wasn't actually learning the first thing about any of his classmates. Not at all. Which was more than a bit impressive, given just how _much_ Slughorn had them talking... but it felt a little like unsubstantial fluff. A whole lot of words, to convey an even bigger lot of nothing.

Not unless he counted finding out Abraxas Malfoy hosted an annual Christmas party that Slughorn was very interested in, that Gryffindor Alexa Hipworth's grandfather had invented the Pepperup Potion, or that Samuel Bellingsly, another Gryffindor, was a Muggleborn, anyway. And any other such accumulation of assorted, irrelevant nonsense.

Sometime around fifteen minutes in, realizing he was just listening to their professor gush about that one time he'd shaken the Minister's hand, Roy sagged his head down on against his hand, and found himself wondering if it would really be all that bad if he just took a nap.

And this time, he wasn't the only one trying not to yawn.

Samuel Bellingsly, actually, had been one of the most awkward moments thus far... Slughorn had reached his table, still beaming and halfway flushed from one of his own jokes with the student next to him. Shaking his head and smiling, their professor had barely even given him a half-hearted glance down to him, then checked on his parchment, and he'd asked, "Mister... Samuel Billingsley, is that correct?"

"Um... Bellingsly, sir."

"Yes, yes, of course, my mistake... and what is it your parents do, again? Can't quite remember, been so long..."

"You... never met them, sir." The first year had fidgeted an inch or two, withering and almost meek in his seat, hugging himself tight. "My parents are Muggles."

"...ah. Of course. Very good." Slughorn hmmed to himself, quietly marking something down on his parchment with just a slight scratch of his pen.

Then, without another word, he'd moved onto the next student.

The rest of the awkward introductions period passed in a somewhat similar manner, one that grew even more uncomfortable as time went on. Slughorn kept on just taking his time working around the classroom, conversing happily with students and the more responsive they were, the longer he'd take, to the point where Roy wondered if he'd stumbled into the wrong class and this was _Wizarding Society,_ not _Introduction to Potions._ And it was never anything even remotely _interesting,_ was the thing. Great, he got to hear five minutes straight of how interested Sughorn was in what seemed to be paperwork at the Ministry or fawning over the son of the pro-Quidditch player. Meanwhile, he'd actually been a bit interested to find out about the Muggleborn's parents- but Slughorn had just strolled right on.

At this point, he was actually missing McGonagall. At least her class had been _interesting._

But the minutes just ticked on by, and Slughorn _finally_ reached the back row, somehow still just as eager and cheery as before. Roy didn't have a clue how he even still had the energy to be so upbeat about it all. He barely even could scrounge up the will to listen at all as their professor started off this time, instead just gazing blearily down to the scratched table in utter boredom. He wondered if his textbook would make a soft pillow.

"Now, now, let me see, here- Zolf Kimbley? Is that right?"

Oh- oh- no. Nope. Too late for a nap. No, _no, stop thinking about how soft your textbook could be, you can nap later-_

"That's correct, sir," Kimbley said next to him, and for all that they'd suffered, sitting here listen to Slughorn prattle on for what felt like an eternity, he was already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and smiling, up straight the very moment Slughorn reached their table. "It's so nice to meet you, Professor; I've heard so much about you."

Roy nearly choked in his effort to stifle a burst of laughter. So much for _Lucius Malfoy_ being a prat...

But Slughorn merely beamed on, just like he'd been beaming all class long, so focused on Kimbley Roy probably _could've_ burst out laughing and he wouldn't have even noticed. "Oh, is that so? All good things, I hope."

"Of course, Professor. Only the best."

"And that's... Joseph Kimbley, isn't that right? At the Daily Prophet?"

Kimbley nodded slightly again, that odd smile back on his face, that one that Roy was starting to recognize- the smile that was so easygoing, it was unerring. "That's right, sir. At the Prophet."

At that, Roy started a little, blinking at him. He hadn't known Kimbley's parents worked at the Prophet... not like he'd really read the newspaper all that often, but...

How come Slughorn seemed to just _know something,_ on almost all of them? Had he done research before class or something?

Roy fidgeted uncomfortably again, suddenly a little less at ease than before, and slunk deeper back into his seat.

Slughorn exchanged a few more words with Kimbley, the two even seeming to gladly hit it off, but as far as Roy could tell Kimbley didn't have any long, pretentious, not-even-subtle bragging ready to spill out, not like Lucius Malfoy or some of the others, so Slughorn moved on soon enough with an approving grin and another check on his parchment. Roy pushed himself up at last, somehow managing to work a nervous attempt at a smile back onto his face as he looked up at his head of house, waiting for his turn.

"Yes, yes..." Slughorn murmured, glancing first at him, then down at his parchment. "Let's see- Roy Mustang?"

"Yes, sir," he said, nearly stuttering in his rush to finally get it all out at last. "That's me."

...well, yeah, it was really boring listening to everyone _else_ do it, but Roy couldn't even pretend he wasn't a little bit eager for the chance to get to talk about his _own_ family...

His professor paused quietly again, marking something again down on the parchment with a furrowed brow. "That's... Chris Mustang's charge, right?"

"Yes, sir!"

And Roy readied himself, then, because he'd seen the interrogation nearly every other student in the class had gotten so far. He prepared himself for Slughorn to tell some story about teaching his aunt in school, or reminisce on when he'd crossed paths with her in Diagon Alley, or ask him to talk about what she was doing these days and how she was. Roy had heard almost every other student so far end up with those endless questions so he'd already readied himself as best he could, story in mind and ready to go about when she'd dueled a troublemaking vampire just last month to run him out of town.

He waited, nearly squirming in his seat in anticipation, and utterly powerless to hold back his small, proud smile.

And then, with a short, awkward cough, Slughorn moved on without asking him a single question.

"And, you!" he exclaimed eagerly, eyes bright and beaming, crouching down a little to smile right to the student next to him. "Riza Hawkeye, right? Berthold Hawkeye's daughter, the one and only? Such a pleasure to have you in my class!"

Roy gawked.

A gentle titter of laughter, once again, rolled through the Slytherin side of the classroom. Lucius in particular, he realized, looked especially smug about it- but he wasn't the only one to turn back towards him.

Again, it was nearly every other Slytherin. Near every single one of his housemates, murmuring and giggling to themselves... their amusement and cruelty so blazingly obvious it felt like being stung.

And while Slughorn talked on to Riza Hawkeye next to him, and Roy sat back with what felt like a cold stone dropping into the pit of his stomach, Kimbley ducked his head back down to his textbook, and did not react at all.

* * *

"He doesn't like me."

"Oh, come off it, Roy. You're just being oversensitive again."

"No, I'm not! He _doesn't like me-_ and- and I'm not oversensitive!"

"Well." Kimbley tossed his broomstick from hand to hand for a moment, running his hands over the old, splintery school wood, then left it to rest gently against the crook of his elbow. "Either way, Roy... are you so sure you _want_ Professor Slughorn to like you?" He grinned to him, sharp and serious, and grave his broomstick yet another absentminded toss over the rough ground. "Do you really, really want to be a sycophant like Malfoy or Black?"

"I-"

...so, Roy didn't actually know what that word meant.

His face flushed again- a nearly permanent condition, as of late- and he frowned miserably back to the ground. "...no."

"There you have it, then!" Kimbley announced steadily, thumping him hard on the back. He continued tossing his broomstick.

And Roy, again, sulked.

It was the end of his first week at Hogwarts. Each day had somehow found a way to be more sufficiently miserable than the last, all the way up to culminate in this stupid Quidditch lesson that he'd been dreading ever since he'd seen it on his schedule. Five days into his first school year, and despite Kimbley still telling he was imagining it, Roy no longer had any doubt that at least _someone_ had it out for him. Probably more than one someone, because there was no other explanation for why his things kept being moved about whenever he left his room, the glares he always got at meals, or why on _earth_ Slughorn would _still_ barely give him the time of day yet fawned over most of his classmates like they were the second coming of Merlin.

He still hadn't managed to get his roommates, save Kimbley, to say more than two kind words to him. And by his roommates, he... pretty much meant the entire rest of his House.

And by more than two kind words, he really meant any kind words at all.

His classes, at least, had gone a little better since his first day... although, if he thought about it, that wasn't really saying all that much to begin with. Nothing could've beaten Slughorn's strange slight and complete blind eye towards him, or stumbling in ten minutes late for McGonagall to kill him with her eyes alone.

There'd been Charms with Professor Flitwick, a charming little wizard Roy was half convinced was a goblin who had treated Roy like any other student... even when the feather they were supposed to be charming kept going missing from his desk. History of Magic, with a ghostly Professor Binns who had treated Roy, again, like everyone else- that was, ignoring him completely, and mispronouncing his name as _Ron Mustard._ But, then, Lucius Malfoy had been Lucas Malicious, and Scar had taken him five tries to get it right, so at least Roy hadn't been the only one wanting to die in that class.

(There was some pun waiting to be made there, their ghostly professor having them all wishing for death... but Roy, quite honestly, was far too worn out to figure it out.)

Astronomy with Professor... well, he'd already forgotten her name, not that it mattered, because Roy hadn't been the only one to nearly doze his way through the entire class. What on earth relevance the stars had to magic, he'd _still_ never manged to get a coherent explanation on. Herbology with Professor Sprout, and despite the fact he was almost positive Malfoy had tried to push him into a carnivorous, starving, plant-like- _thing,_ and Roy had barely escaped with his hand intact, that class, too, had gone all right.

Then Professor Grand with Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had easily been the most interesting of all his classes the entire week- he'd take a lesson about vampires over transfiguration theory or Slughorn-loves-Malfoy any day of the year. And while he'd been braced for some strange sort of treatment like Slughorn had handled him with, Grand had merely given him nothing more than second look or two on the first day, provoking again Roy's own sense of prickly sense of apprehension, because lately whenever someone had given him a second look, an insult or a shove was soon to follow...

Then, just moved right on in calling roll, so quickly and easily and without even the slightest pause, and when it had never even been brought up again, Roy had started to wonder if he actually had imagined the entire thing.

And now, here they were at the end of the worst and most exhausting week of his entire life, in what Roy imagined was going to end up the worst and most exhausting _class_ of his entire life: Quidditch.

Roy had found himself pretty much stuck to Kimbley's side, whether it was in class, in the common room- even in the library. It was just, no other Slytherin would _look_ at him, and, what, was he supposed to try and make friends with someone from another house? Just because no one would talk to him didn't mean he didn't hear how the other Slytherins talked about the Gryffindors in all their dual classes together. Being seen hanging out with them was probably the only way he could make things worse.

So here he was again, standing with Kimbley in class, albeit, this time a little off to the side and just observing the rest of the class. Madam Hooch had told them to get their broomsticks to rise off the ground, and not an inch more than that, which both Roy and Kimbley had managed very quickly. While she moved about trying to help most of the rest of the class, they were free, for once, to just stand back and watch, talking to each other all the while.

It was the first time Roy hadn't felt like an incompetent waste of space all week.

Roy glanced down unhappily at his broomstick, half of him ticked off the stupid thing had actually responded to his command to rise on his second try. Figured, the one class he already knew he was going to suck at, yet he'd managed to luck his way into being ahead of the curve at the same time.

"Look," he muttered to Kimbley, still frowning to himself. Half because of Quidditch, half still with his earlier disquiet about their Head of House. "All I'm saying is that Slughorn doesn't like me. Like, from the very first day. ...pretty much no one likes me."

"So I guess I'm chopped liver, then?"

Roy sighed, scowling down at the short grass still tickling at the hems of his patchy robes. Which was another thing... his robes. Roy was pretty sure most of the rest of his house had made it their life's mission to spill crap on them with every single stupid opportunity. He hadn't shown up looking all that bad- but sooner or later he was going to end up in robes that looked as trashy and poor as Malfoy and Black acted like he already was. "You know what I mean," he muttered under his breath. "I mean- I guess I'm not _complaining,_ I- thanks for being so nice to me, really. But everyone else ignores me!"

"I told you, Roy, you're just oversen-"

"No, I'm _not._ Maybe- maybe you just don't see it, because they don't do it to _you,_ but- it's not all in my head!" He reached forward, or started to, not even sure what he wanted to do but just needing to do _something,_ because he was so tired of being told he was making it all up- as if it wasn't already right in front of Kimbley's face- as if Kimbley couldn't see for himself if he just _looked-!_

Swallowing hard, Roy wrenched his arm back down, hugging himself even in the heat of the bright sun as he tried to calm down. Regardless of the insanity of it all, how sometimes it felt so bad it felt like his head was pounding with the rage alone and his heart pulsed in his ears- well, Kimbley was simply his only friend. He _couldn't_ get mad at him. Without Kimbley, no one even put up with him.

Without Kimbley, he had _no one._

A few stuttering, painful breaths later, when Roy was finally calm enough to sound as if he wasn't blaming him, he at last let himself go on.

"They keep calling me blood traitor," he whispered.

That wasn't in his head.

They _kept calling him_ that, and it _wasn't in his stupid head._

Next to him, Kimbley tossed his broom around a little more. He tilted his head back to smile up at the sky, easygoing again and so calm it wasn't even infectious, it was just downright weird. "That's just what people like the Malfoys do."

"But it's not just him! Everyone else- even people not in our year! Not-"

"Yeah, Roy, because you're in _Slytherin._ What'd you expect, getting Sorted here?" Kimbley smirked and rolled his eyes, this time giving him a light push to the shoulder. "Half the families here are like the Malfoys. If it bothers you that much, then, like I said, you're really just being oversensitive and need to get over it. Because it's not going away."

"I- but-"

 _But I'm not oversensitive,_ he wanted to whisper, hugging himself again on the spot. He wasn't oversensitive, because it was _just him,_ and it was _everyone._ Their whole House treated him like this except Kimbley, and no one else got the same treatment. He was the only one.

After another unsettled sort of pause, the words stuck and dying in Roy's throat, because he didn't want to argue against his only friend, Kimbley slouched back with another sigh and gave his shoulder yet another push... this one, so rough Roy nearly tripped right over his own feet into the grass. "Why are you so convinced it's something about _you,_ anyway? You're pureblood, aren't you? None of them care at all about me, and I'm halfblood. What, is it something your family does, you think?"

"That's- no, my family's fine, I just-" Roy shook his head to himself, scowling again. He didn't want to say as such to Kimbley, but... well, it wasn't as if he hadn't already thought about it. The thought had occurred to him pretty much the moment he'd realized the name _Mustang_ had turned Slytherin table against him. But it just didn't make sense. "I live with my aunt. She doesn't... she doesn't do anything that anyone would care about. She just runs a tavern, Kimbley."

"What, you don't think that's enough?"

"What- _enough?"_

"You know," Kimbley chuckled, shrugging. "Like I said... this is _Slytherin._ I'm not sure what else you expected, really. But I doubt most of them want anything to do with something as low class as a bar maid."

"... _excuse me?"_

Kimbley shrugged again next to him, not even turning once, innocent smile still firmly in place and oblivious to Roy's new little kernel of white hot, indignant rage, flooding his stomach with so much upset he could barely think. "Or what do I know. like I said, I'm a half-blood." Snickering a little, Kimbley let his broomstick thump lamely back down onto the ground, held his hand back out, and ordered, _"Up."_ The broomstick shot back up to his hand like a magnet and his classmate chuckled again, casting a disparaging sort of smirk over to most of the rest of the class, still uselessly chanting the command over and over in ever increasing frustration, their broomsticks rolling uselessly over the grass like limp rags. "Maybe it's your parents that they're mad about. You said you lived with your aunt? Why is that? What'd your parents do?"

Roy's stomach, already twisted in the slow rise of hissing anger at Kimbley calling his aunt _low class,_ tightened. His world ground straight to a sickening, suffocating halt.

Not for the first time, he wished very badly he could just drop this stupid broomstick, go back inside, and not crawl out from his bed for the entire rest of the week.

"...I don't know," he ventured testily, when he'd somehow found just enough strength to wrench the words that felt like broken glass past the lump in his throat. "I was real young when they... when my aunt took me."

"Hm...? That sounds like a sore spot... did I hit a nerve, Roy?" And suddenly, Kimbley was closer, peering into his face with eyes too bright and a smile too broad. "Come on, I told you, you can't be so sensitive. It makes you look like a baby. That's just begging for people to come after you... baby-Roy." He pushed a little at his shoulder again, too soft to be anything but a joke, but smile too broad to be anything but a grating, twisted slap to the face. "All I mean is, if you're sooooo convinced everyone hates you for your name- why don't you do something about it, baby-Roy? I bet you could look up your own name in the library... if your family really was a bunch of blood traitors, you'd be able to find out how."

Roy tensed again. Something hard ground his teeth together- so brutal and angry he nearly shattered them with it.

"My family," he started, low, because he didn't have the stability in him to say it any louder without his voice breaking, "is _not-"_

"All right, boys. I think it's time for me to show you all the next part of today's lesson."

White hot anger still clawed through Roy's mind, turning his stomach sick and his fists tight, the need for justice, to scream, to wipe that stupid smug look off Kimbley's stupid smug _face._ But Kimbley was already gone, fallen back into place beside him like nothing at all in the world was wrong, and Madam Hooch was in front of them, a pack of other successful Gryffindors with her, and she was already talking about what she wanted them to do next, and it was just-

Too late.

Roy ground his teeth together again, indignation clenching his jaw and tightening in a vise right around his heart.

_My family are not blood-traitors._

_I'm not a baby._

_SHUT UP, KIMBLEY._

Madam Hooch had them all gather around her, Roy still silently seething and near trembling behind her, so incensed he could barely even see as showed them all the proper way to mount a broomstick. "Now, none of you are permitted to _fly,"_ she ordered harshly, gaze meeting each and every one of them in an uncompromising, unyielding sort of glare. "While I'm still working with the other half of the class, you are permitted to lift off the ground, then land back down again, _only._ If any of you get it in your head to try anything more than that, you'll be expelled faster than you can say Quidditch, do you understand me?"

At first, Roy was too stuck in his own misery and anger to even register what had been said. He just stood there silently to obediently nod, gripping the broomstick in a fist so tight it nearly dug splinters right into his hand, and seethed away to himself until his head hurt with the weight of it and he could barely even breathe.

And then, her words actually registered.

They were supposed to fly, now.

To actually fly.

Roy stared back down at his broomstick. His stomach, with all the force of a curse to the face, dropped, and his anger evaporated with hiss with it... doused, instead, with a bucket of ice cold horror.

But-

But he couldn't.

He couldn't do that. He- couldn't fly. It felt like his mind had broken against a brick wall, and was still broken, breaking every moment as he stared down at that broomstick and it ran into the block, over and over again. Flying. Him? _Flying? Him?_

No.

The students around him, one by one, mounted their broomsticks. Roy just stared, frozen in place and helpless to turn away; each and every one braced themselves and, with varying degrees of success, kicked up off the ground. They all lifted up- they were flying, _flying-_ each one hovering in the air, one by one, gasping and struggling, one girl choking out a strangled, tiny scream, even unflappable Kimbley stiffening a little-

It was too much. No. Nope. He couldn't do it. _No._

The nauseating whirl of the world around ground to a halt with another thump on his shoulder, and there were voices again but over the sudden numbness in his legs and sick stone in his stomach he barely heard it. "I-" He shook his head hard, nearly gasping, wrenched himself back to the present so hard it hurt. "I'm sorry, what?" He turned towards Kimbley again, head still spinning, voice distant and tiny even to his own miserable ears.

His classmate stared back at him, and this time, perhaps for the first time since Roy had ever known him, the smug lilt to his eyes had faded. "...you okay?" he asked, tossing his broomstick around a little again. "Come on, why aren't you doing it? Madam Hooch is gonna yell at-"

"I- I can't."

"...you can't?"

"I-" Roy shook his head again, nearly choking on it. His legs were numb and shaking, all but dead underneath him, and it took everything he had not to just let them give out from under him and sink him straight down to the grass. "I- can't. I can't do it. I don't- I don't like heights," he coughed, each word a desperate struggle, enunciated as awkwardly clear as he could make it because without it, he probably would've rushed too fast for it to be understood at all. "I won't do it. I don't like heights. I won't do it."

"Huh...?"

Kimbley obviously didn't get it. Kimbley just stared at him, brow furrowing right in confusion, then started to throw his leg back over his broomstick again, smiling in what was probably meant to be a cajoling sort of manner but Roy was too sick to recognize it. "Come on," he prodded again, nudging at him, "it's just a few inches off the ground- it's not even heights, baby-Roy, it's-"

_"I said I won't do it!"_

It took him several seconds after the exclamation, near shouted in his raw throat and staring at Kimbley's now shocked eyes, for him to realize that he was shaking.

_I won't do it. I won't do it. I won't do it. I won't do it. I won't do it..._

He didn't care if Kimbley thought he was a baby. He didn't care it wasn't any more than a few inches off the ground. He didn't care how stupid he looked and how humiliating this should be. He _would not_ do it.

He realized haltingly, faintly and as if from far, far away, just barely over the panic expanding in his chest, that he _couldn't._

For several moments, Kimbley did nothing at all. He just stared at him, eyes big and that smug confidence he was so used to- finally gone. He stood there, pale and staring and blank, and Roy stood there and stared right back, trembling and sick and for the first time in this entire miserable week, _scared._

And then, it was over.

"...okay," Kimbley said slowly. This time, the push to the shoulder was barely a gentle brush, and he smiled again. "All right, that's... that's just your loss, I guess." He pulled his hands back to himself, re-situating his stance on his broomstick, but his easy smile stayed in place. Which was a huge relief, because that was pretty much all Roy had right now and without it he might really have collapsed. "I'll just tell Madam Hooch you already did it, okay? I'll cover for you. You can just stay down here."

Which was all really, really nice, and really, really unexpected, and Roy really, really didn't deserve it, especially because he kept screwing up with Kimbley over and over again, but he was still too shaken and thrown to process it. He found his head bobbing up and down in a desperately weak nod, mute and just wanting this all to be over, and didn't even realize until Kimbley had pulled away from him again that he should probably say thank you.

_I can't fly... I won't do it... I can't fly..._

"K- Kimbley," he stammered. His world threw itself right off orbit to leave him drowning in the wind but his instinct threw his hand straight out, grabbing desperately for his sleeve a near splitsecond before his only friend kicked off the ground. "I-..."

His fellow Slytherin tilted his head a little, grinning at him over his shoulder like Roy _wasn't_ standing there the color of sour milk, trembling in his own boots, and legs so weak it was a miracle he was still standing at all. "Yeah, baby-Roy?"

Five minutes ago, Roy might've shoved him for that.

Five minutes ago, Roy also hadn't just completely and utterly lost it at being asked to do nothing more than trying to fly.

Maybe he was a baby after all.

"Thanks, Kimbley," he stumbled out at last, wavering and pathetic, and let him go.

There was another startled moment of silence.

Then, Kimbley just smiled at him again, and in the greatest act of kindness anyone had ever given him at this entire stupid school, his classmate turned away again, and resumed practicing.

It wouldn't occur to Roy until many weeks later that, in that moment, Kimbley had not been smiling at him because of what they'd just done, but, instead, because of what he'd now realized he was going to be able to do.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos/comments!!!

The days after that did not get any better.

Meals remained increasingly awkward. He sat with Kimbley near the end of the table, because he had no desire to even try sitting near anyone else and the few times he'd tried, he'd find himself elbowed off or with food and drink spilled on him so instantly it was certainly no accident. Classes were much the same; he sat isolated with Kimbley, because no one else wanted so sit with him, and he tried to just keep his head down and do his work in silence.

He spent the weekend in the library. Sort of doing homework, mostly just desperately trying to pass the time. Again, with Kimbley.

He'd had enough of other Slytherins both glaring and ignoring him each and every night to want to spend any of his day in his common room that he didn't have to.

On the first day of the second week, he'd wound up with an owl from his aunt. Roy had taken one look at the address on it, then just stuffed it into his bag, and still had yet to dig it out.

He knew without even opening the letter that it was his family. His whole, huge family that loved him, the same family that had nearly suffocated him with all the hugs the morning he'd left for Hogwarts, and just wanted to know how his school year was going.

He didn't want to lie to them.

Despite the harrowing beginning to his school year, though, and despite how confused and thrown by much of his classmates' behavior as he still was, as he threw himself into his second week, Roy found himself at last beginning to adjust. Sure, it wasn't ideal. It was nothing at all like the magnificent, amazing school he'd heard so many stories about. It was confusing and isolating and scary and _lonely_ and everyone still just _hated him_ and he didn't know why, but-

But he had at least one friend.

He had at least that one friend, and as miserable as absolutely everything else about that school was, that was enough.

He could do this.

...or... he _could,_ Roy considered miserably, slinging an exhausted fist back down to pound his pillow back into submission as he turned over in his bed... just so long as he didn't have to _fly._

That was the one thing about Hogwarts that he was never, ever, ever going to do.

He was _never_ going to fly, and he didn't care who had what to say about it.

Roy sighed to himself, accepting at last that sleep wasn't anywhere near coming for him this time, and instead squinted his eyes open to glare into the dark of his room. Quidditch lessons were only once a week- and thank every nonexistent deity that he didn't believe in for that- so his plan pretty much consisted of faking it about twenty more times this year, then dropping the class the very instant that he could next year. It was... probably a pretty stupid plan. But it was all that he had any interest in doing.

Maybe he could talk Kimbley into covering for him tomorrow, Roy hoped, digging himself even deeper into his blankets. Maybe Madam Hooch would fall ill and class would be cancelled.

Maybe he'd finally get lucky and the ground would swallow him up whole and he'd never have to deal with any of this, ever again.

There was some faint rustling in his room, just the softest scratches of sheets on the very edge of his hearing. Roy just left himself curled up in his bed, eyes still half-lidded and body lax in the middle of the cold night. Either it was somebody going to the loo or, more likely, he imagined, someone prowling around to hide his stuff. Or it was Kimbley's cat. Whichever it was, nothing would be served by him getting up and making a fuss except Lucius and Arcturus hating him even more, and Kimbley's seemingly endless patience with him and his screw-ups would be dragged even further to the breaking point.

He stayed relaxed. He let his eyes shut.

Only to jump nearly straight out of his skin when the soft rustling materialized in a hand on his shoulder.

He nearly cried out with the shock of it, tensing as if that one gentle touch had been a lightning bolt, but Kimbley was already talking, shaking gently to his shoulder and smile evident on his voice alone. "Hey, hey, Roy! Roy, are you awake? Wake up, Roy!"

"What... Kimbley?" He swallowed his grumble as best he could, because he didn't want to ever let himself be exasperated with him, but- well, _jeez..._ "Kimbley, it's like midnight, what're you- Kimbley, let go of me-"

Because Kimbley's hands were on his shoulders, now, pushing him back down to his bed even as he tried to sit up. "Roy," he was still saying, "Roy," and he just sounded so _excited,_ "Something happened! I wanna show you something, Roy, something happened!"

At _midnight...?_ Rubbing at his tired, slack face with a weak hand, Roy started to turn again, trying to push himself upright- but Kimbley still wasn't letting go of his shoulders. Quite frankly, Roy did not care whatever had gone on at midnight, he just wanted to sleep, or go back to not-sleeping and instead freaking out about Quidditch, but this was Kimbley. He couldn't say no to Kimbley. "So-" he fumbled, trying to swallow the yawn in his throat. "So- what is it...?"

"It's a _surprise!"_ Kimbley exclaimed, pushing him back down again. "It's a surprise, Roy, you gotta close your eyes, I wanna surprise you!"

"What? Kimbley, just tell me-"

"Come on, Roy, close your eyes! It'll just take a few seconds and I promise, you'll love it! Come on, Roy!" And now he was shaking him, gentle tugs on his shoulder and his eyes so shiny in excitement they were nearly fever-bright, half sitting up on his bed already-

And Roy, as much as he did not want to, couldn't say no to Kimbley.

He allowed himself one slight, obedient nod. Despite the stupidly late hour and exasperation weighing down every inch of him, he made himself smile.

Then, he closed his eyes.

There was more rustling again. Kimbley's hard hands left his shoulders, and a moment later, his weight left his bed. In the darkness of his own eyelids and meager warmth of his bed, Roy found himself almost floating, just lying there to wait and listen to the continued movement of sheets from about the room, the familiar, gentle thud of water outside his window, the gentle hisses of Kimbley's cat.

For a moment, that late and quiet, so deep into the night, it was almost peaceful.

Then he was shoved back down to his bed, and the breath driven so violently out of his lungs he nearly choked on it.

Roy cried out, bucking upright in his bed or at least he _tried_ to but was pinioned straight back down, and so tightly it was terrifying. "Kimbley!" he gasped, staring wildly about the dark- he was pinned to his stupid bed, the blankets around him tugged down tight as a straitjacket, he couldn't kick it off, he could barely _move,_ this- "Kimbley, what-"

He stopped dead.

It wasn't Kimbley.

Lucius and Arcturus.

It was Lucius and Arcturus. His two other roommates, roommates who had yet to so much as speak to him aside from mumbled insults, who wouldn't even _look_ at him if he so much as said hello- and now knelt on either side of his bed, holding his blanket down to the ground... and him with it.

_What the-_

_"KIMBLEY!"_ he cried, kicking and fighting but he just _wasn't strong enough._ "Kimbley, Kimbley, where are you?! What's going on?! Guys, this isn't funny, I- let me go! Kimbley, where are you?! Tell them to stop! _Kimbley!"_

But Kimbley wasn't there. Kimbley had told him to shut his eyes and now was nowhere to be seen, and Lucius and Arcturus just laughed at him, beaming to each other over his bed, because Roy kicked and fought but he wasn't strong enough- and where was Kimbley?! Where had he gone?! Why wasn't he stopping this?!

_Why were they doing this to him?!_

_"Kimbley, pl-"_

"All right, all right, all _right,_ already. Calm down, baby-Roy... before all that screaming gets Armstrong over here to shut you up."

Lucius and Arcturus laughed to themselves again, low, steady whispers of cruel _laughter,_ but at Kimbley's voice Roy kicked again, heart pounding so hard he nearly choked on it. "Kimbley-" he gasped, kicking and struggling, trying to turn after him but to no avail. "Kimbley, what's going on, Kimbley-"

"I thought I told you to shut up."

Roy, mid-yell, and desperate, terrified panic halfway through clawing its way straight out his throat, found himself paralyzed in a mire of thick mud straight to a stop.

_...Kimbley...?_

Roy strained again, gasping, nearly wanting to flail, but- he _couldn't._ He didn't have enough freedom in his limbs to do even that. He felt weak, abruptly, so _helpless,_ without the strength or freedom to even see Kimbley unless Kimbley wanted him to- forced to simply lie there and wait for him to decide to come back, because Roy just couldn't get free- where was he? _Where was he?!_ Roy kicked again, nearly whining in his terror, so desperate and confused-

And then- there.

There he was.

Looming into his vision like a ghost or a monster under the bed, sly grin beaming in the dark, eyes flashing, a sharp and metallic glint of the edge of a knife, was Kimbley.

He stood there in just old pajamas, not even a wand in hand or hair combed once from the tangles and mess of bed, sloping and loose-limbed and more casual than his own sanity could maintain. Just padding barefoot the slightest of inches into view of Roy's prone form, hands on his hips and eyes glinting still, and he smiled. He _smiled_ right to Roy, the way he had so many times these past two weeks- and then, he looked down to Lucius and Arcturus...

And he smiled at them, too.

"Well, look at that, boys. The wild stallion needs a bit to keep him quiet after all," he said, and the other Slytherins laughed, but Roy was so shocked and strangled he couldn't manage even a whisper. "You all were right after all," Kimbley leered, drifting forwards to stand and just observe at the foot of his bed, smile predatory, eyes... _hungry._ "Should've known to go with this from the beginning."

"W-what- should've-" Something close to fear tightened in his throat, swelling shut until his breaths constricted into nothing, and he nearly choked. He hated this and was scared and had no clue what was happening and just knew that he wanted it to stop. "Kimbley, this isn't funny-"

And then, Kimbley was right there. Straddled straight on top of him with his knees locked around his stomach with such a sudden, shocked violence Roy gasped, the heat and strength of his legs too close, and the glint of his smile, just- _unhinged._ What on earth- what was he doing, what was going on, why was this- " _Kimbley-"_

"Say _ah,_ baby-Roy," he laughed, and his roommates right around him, and then, with that, the boy who had been his only friend leaned forward, and gagged him on his own socks.

Fear broke into outright panic.

_"Mmm! MMMM! MMPH! MMPH! MM-"_

"Now let's _actually_ get busy," Kimbley laughed again, one hand reaching forward to tousle his hair like a disobedient dog, and Lucius and Arcturus just laughed right along with him. But Kimbley didn't move, even with his arms and legs pinned and mouth abruptly stuffed so full he choked on the cotton Kimbley stayed heavy on his stomach, beaming or perhaps even just baring his teeth as he leaned down, accepting something from Lucius-

That was his bag! _His!_ That was _his things!_

_STOP, STOP, STOP-_

"Let's see- here it is! Let's look at this!" Kimbley tossed the bag down onto his chest so hard it dragged a choked, muffled cry straight out to die against the gag but no one even looked at him, his roommates all just craning to get a better look as Kimbley dug straight into his bag without asking, pulling out books to toss them to the floor, scattering his quills all across the bed. "Garbage, garbage," he murmured, " _second-hand_ garbage," and Lucius and Arcturus just burst out laughing.

Those were his things. From his aunt, his sisters. The best that they'd been able to buy.

Those were all- a sick rage blossomed in his stomach, blinding him through from head to toe, and then his eyes were burning, because those were all _his._ Roy blinked hard against the tiny, stubborn tears, then kicked all over again, because he was helpless and powerless but those were _his things,_ and they were just- calling them _garbage-!_

"Oh, look at _this!"_ A new joy lit and spread across Kimbley's face again, like a vial of liquid poison cracked to spill and spread over mud. An abject, brilliant, enthused joy, and he lifted his head up with the sickest smile Roy had ever seen, and pulled out from his bag like it was his greatest prize- his homework.

_"Mmph! Mmmmph, mmph, mmph-"_

"Hey, I remember this one!" He yanked one leaf of parchment up higher, dangling it in front of Roy's eyes only to snatch it away before he could see anymore than just a mass of ink. "I remember- our Transfiguration essay, you remember, Roy? You had to beg for my help. Like a _baby._ "

What?! That wasn't what had happened! No- no, they'd worked _together,_ he-

"Help?" Lucius spluttered from the floor; the blanket was tugged even tighter, so tight Roy would've screamed if his mouth wasn't so suffocatingly full of cotton he felt it dry and itchy in his throat. "What kind of Slytherin is so pathetic he can't even do his own homework?"

Kimbley chuckled sharply, high-pitched and broken like a banshee, tossing about his essay from hand to hand. "A stupid one, that's for sure," he said, and this time, he wasn't the only one laughing.

Then, with another disparaging shake of his head, he reached up to tear his essay straight in two.

_"MMPH! MMPH! MMPH!"_

_STOP! I SPENT ALL WEEK ON THAT, STOP IT, STOP! **STOP!**_

"Babies have to learn," Kimbley all but purred, ripping again, and _again,_ scattering his chest with ruined little bits of paper too small to ever be pieced back together again. "Too stupid to do your work by yourself? Then I think you're too stupid to get to turn it in at all."

But- but-

_But that's mine-_

_Please-_

Kimbley dug back down into his things, routing around again through the crinkles of parchment. His _work_ , every last bit of it, and he dragged sheets out one by one; sometimes his notes, sometimes other starts at homework, and he ripped it up, every last bit of it. Roy fought back, shouting into his gag and kicking and thrashing, but with all three of the boys holding him down he just wasn't strong enough to free himself and was powerless to do anything but lie there and watch it happen.

This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. Kimbley was his only friend, Kimbley was the only one who'd even _talk_ to him, this was just a nightmare- a horrible, horrible nightmare, that was all it was, _it can't be real-_

"Here we go, I remember this one, too, here we go- remember our Charms homework?" Kimbley yanked another sheet from his bag again, beaming bright and proud as he wavered it right there in front of his eyes. "Stupid Roy, you think we believe you did this all by yourself? You think we believe you're smart enough for that?" He smirked, and the others _laughed,_ and he lifted his hand again, preparing to tear it up just like all the rest-

Then, with another slippery sort of smirk- he stopped.

"Arcturus?" he called over his shoulder. "You had trouble with this one, didn't you?"

The Slytherin on his other side perked right up, bright and eager, smile so big it nearly split his face in half. "Yeah?"

Kimbley's dark eyes drifted between the two of them again.

And then, his cold smile slipped straight into a patronizing, condescending twist of a vicious smirk.

"Then how about you take baby-Roy's," he chuckled, "and turn it in for yourself."

And as Roy, pinned and gagged and helpless, lay there trapped as a helpless slug and just _watched_ , Kimbley handed over his homework with one hand, and smacked him across the face with the other.

_But- that's mine! I did that! That's not his, that's mine! STOP IT! He didn't- let me go, that's- that's-_

But the boys around him all laughed again, mocking and hysterical and _loud,_ and Roy was too weak and powerless to do a single thing to stop it.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be. Kimbley was his _friend,_ maybe Lucius and Arcturus weren't but Kimbley was his only friend and Kimbley would not do this to him. Kimbley wouldn't take his things or hit him, Kimbley had _helped him out_ when his things had gone missing, Kimbley had been the only one to tell him it'd be okay, this wasn't real- panic lurched tight in his chest to throw him down in free-fall, horror cold in his veins like ice because _this wasn't real-_

Kimbley shook with the laughter again, his little shoulders trembling and his body shivering with the force of it. He tossed his ruined bag, splattered with ink and little bits of crumbled paper, on down to the floor, and Roy heard how it hit. He saw how it fell. The loose, empty _thud,_ the pathetic, heavy way it fell...

It was empty. It was entirely _empty._

They'd torn through everything in it. Every last book tossed away, every last sheet of homework stolen, every last thing of notes ripped to shreds.

Sick tears burned in his eyes again, and the whole of him still pinned, Roy could not even try to wipe them away.

Nor did he even have the wherewithal to want to, when he dragged his stunned, hurt gaze back to Kimbley, and realized that not all of his papers had yet been destroyed.

Because in his hands, remaining still, gripped snug between fingers like it was his greatest treasure, was one single, slim letter.

Roy's heart stopped.

No- no-

_No-_

"Now, what do we have, here, Roy?" He leaned forward on his stomach, legs squeezing so tight around him it shocked a burning breath out straight through his nose. He was too close, he was just _there_ and he hated it, and the letter was dangled right in his face- "What do we have _here?"_

_NOT YOURS! THAT'S NOT YOURS! THAT'S NOT YOURS!_

_**STOP!** _

But he was gagged so thickly the scream was muffled into a dying whimper, and gasping through his nose so hard was making him lightheaded and dizzy and it all _hurt_ , even his eyes hurt as he felt something wet start to burn in them. He shook his head desperately, all but sobbing for him to just _stop_ into his own socks-

But they wouldn't.

None of them ever once even tried to.

 _"Dear Roy,"_ Kimbley read aloud, and just those two words were enough to set everyone off cracking up around him all over again. _"How is Hogwarts? What house are you in? How are your classes? Making any frieeeends?"_ He laughed again, voice cracking with the force of it, beaming so proud Roy wanted to die on the spot. This wasn't fair, he just wanted him to stop, that was from his _family, please just stop-_

 _"I know I promised we wouldn't nag you, but it's been a week, Roy! You have to write to us! Everyone at the bar misses youuu-_ what did I tell you, boys? He _does_ live in a bar!"

"A bar? A _bar?"_

"What kind of filthy peasant lives in a _bar?"_

"Even the Weasleys have more class than that!"

Kimbley barked out another laugh, crinkling the letter like it wasn't worth anything more than trash on the street. "Awww, look at that- all his sisters wrote something for him, too! Look at that, boys! He's got like ten of them! Aww, they _looove youuu,_ they _miiiiiss youuuu-_ oh, oh! _Marie- I can't wait until you get back home so I can give you a hug and a kiss!"_

This time, the burst of laughter was so immediate and violent, Lucius and Arcturus nearly keeled over enough to let him go entirely.

Roy's face burned so hot he almost thought he was about to get sick.

That was his sisters. That was his aunt. That-

That was his _family._

And they were laughing at them.

"Pathetic," his once friend announced steadily, squirming even heavier over his stomach. His legs were locked so tight he could barely breathe over the crushing weight on his chest, but face so close and his family's letter dangling so near he couldn't help it; he screamed. He screamed as desperate and loud and terrified as he could, begging him to stop against the gag but nothing even came out; his mouth was stuffed and even if it hadn't he couldn't breathe enough to speak; he screamed and begged and flailed like a baby, and Kimbley just sat there on top of him letting him do it, grinning as he just _broke down_ right underneath him.

He was still grinning minutes later, when Roy had worn himself so bone deep with exhaustion with barely had the strength to breathe against the compression of the sheets and the weight of Kimbley- and had accomplished nothing more than a wet face and a bit tongue.

"Pathetic," Kimbley said again, softer than before. He reached forward with his one free hand, patting at Roy's cheek to roughly palm the desperate tears.

This time, his smile slipped into something closer to a cruel sneer.

"Embarrassing, and pathetic."

Then, just like all his homework before it, Kimbley ripped the letter up right in front of him, and scattered the remains like ash over his face.

"Your aunt sends her love," he mocked, and with that, Arcturus finally gave in, and just hit the floor laughing.

His bag, now empty- his pride, in ruins- every last scrap of trust he'd ever had, stomped and spit on all over the floor- and Kimbley, face still split in two by that steady, confident as a snake smile, tossed his head back, and laughed. He pushed on Roy's chest, working himself up as if Roy was nothing more than an inanimate doll underneath him to turn smugly about the room, light on his feet and hugging his stomach as he laughed and laughed and laughed, and his friends- his _real_ friends- laughed along with him.

Because, Roy now realized, Kimbley had been their friend this entire time.

Just like he hadn't been his.

He was crying so hard, nose running and eyes burning and socks damp and disgusting in his mouth, he couldn't manage more than shallow wheezes through his nose so weak it felt like he was dying.

"Now we've been thinking, baby-Roy," Kimbley chuckled, sauntering about the room, not even in his eyesight anymore because he was still pinned and too weak to save himself. "You just keep _screwing up._ And when you're baby-Roy at home with your aunt who _wuvs youuuu,_ that's okay- but you're a Slytherin, now, and you know who doesn't belong in our house? _Screw-ups."_

There was a loud _thump_ of some kind, like Kimbley had thrown something against his mattress or the wall. Roy flinched again, trying to squirm away, kick for freedom, _something,_ but Lucius and Arcturus held fast and the panic strangling his heart was left to just tug ever tighter "You know how many points we lost these first two weeks thanks to _you?"_

_"Mmph- mmph mmph- MMPH-"_

_It's not my fault I keep being late because you keep hiding my things IT'S NOT MY FAULT IT'S NOT MY FAULT_

_"Forty points,_ " Kimbley murmured, on the tails of yet another mighty _thump._

The tug of his blanket somehow pulled even tighter, and something very, very frightened sunk straight into the pit of his stomach.

Lucius and Arcturus snickered away on the floor, and Kimbley again loomed back into the very edges of his view in the darkness. He was pulling something now- a pillowcase, it looked like, a heavy and lumpy pillowcase that was filled with _something..._ multiple somethings that thudded together, rolling against each other like rocks, heavy, dangerous little balls that were just-

Were really not goose feathers.

Roy's stomach dropped again.

"And so," he chuckled again, dragging that lumpy, terrifying case another step closer, "we decided if you're too stupid to learn the lesson our teachers our trying to teach you- then _we_ just have to teach you." He paused for a moment, leering with the slickest, most dangerous smile Roy had ever seen in his entire life. "The hard way."

There wasn't even time for him to try to scream before the case was hefted up over Kimbley's shoulder, then swung like a baseball bat down to his stomach as very hard as he could.

"One," Kimbley said steadily, and lifted the case back over his shoulder again.

* * *

Roy didn't hear, when his roommates chanted _forty_ together.

He didn't see when Lucius and Arcturus finally rose to their feet next to him, freeing the limbs that had been pinned down so tightly for so long they'd gone numb.

He didn't feel when the heavy pillowcase was left to sag on his stomach.

Everything about him had gone too numb to realize anything any more.

There was laughter on around him again, laughter that sounded like the shreds of paper dusted over his face and the screaming in his stomach. Footsteps and high fives and laughter. Exchanged words that flew over his head and far away, so much more than he could ever understand.

Then Kimbley was there again, smirking in his face, and even though it killed the shrieking agony beat through his stomach to do it, he just couldn't help but sob.

Kimbley smirked again.

"Baby," he said, and brought his hand again across his face so quickly it was almost a slap.

With a steady, wicked sort of grin again, Kimbley raised the pillowcase back up, and Roy just _screamed._ Terror lanced through his heart and he kicked and shook and begged even while muzzled like a dog, _no, no, NO not again, NO,_ but Kimbley did not lift it to hit him again. Kimbley threw his head back at his terror and wheezed towards the ceiling, high-pitched, breathy wheezes of such hysterical pleasure it flooded his face with humiliation and shame, and he still sat up there to shudder and gasp as he lifted that pillowcase up overhead just to whirl it upside down, and empty it out over his chest.

Bars of soap.

Multiple hard bars of now crumbling soap.

Kimbley tsked a little, shaking his head back at him as he lifted one up to wave it around, all flaking and crumbling and malformed from the force that it had already been hammered against him. "Look at that," he sighed, glaring down right at him. "Wasn't enough for you to to cheat off my homework, wasn't enough for you to get me in trouble in class, wasn't enough for you to get _all of us_ in trouble, your _entire House-_ now you ruin my soap, too? Peasant piece of filth." He tossed it up into the air once, grasping tightly at the crumbling remains of the bar, smirk wicked but eyes so filled with disgust it was as if he wanted to throw up.

Kimbley paused again.

Then, without even the very slightest hint of hesitation, Kimbley yanked his soaked socks out of his mouth, and pushed the soap in instead so deeply he tasted it in his throat.

And then, suddenly, he was there, _right there,_ crawled on top of him again to grab him by the hair and laugh back in his face. Roy sobbed into new his gag but couldn't stop him, was too terrified to be _anything_ but boneless and limp in his arms, and Kimbley hauled him upright, dragging him each and every inch and it hurt so _BAD,_ but Kimbley was crouched there right by his face and then suddenly his mouth was at his ear so close he could feel the breath burn against his skin.

 _"Your mother,"_ he hissed, " _was a waste of space whore who was better off dead, and your father was a blood-traitor coward who is lucky he died right next to her."_

Then, he was gone, and at last- Roy was all that was left behind him.

Roy: mouth bleeding, stomach screaming, and so limp with paralyzed, nauseated shock that he couldn't manage anything greater than just falling bonelessly back down to his bed... no matter how much pain it put him in to fall.

"Have fun in Quidditch tomorrow, baby-Roy," Kimbley sung, and around him, once again- the entire room laughed.

Roy was too scared to dare moving for the entire rest of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a bit confused, the reason Kimbley used bars of soap in a pillowcase is because it's much more difficult for that to bruise. It still hurts badly and can still cause damage, but it diffuses the force of the blows out enough that it probably won't manage to bruise. 
> 
> Happy reading :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos!!!

"Does this hurt?"

"Yes."

"And, what about here?"

"Y... yes."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed. Her wand briefly skimmed over his bare, disgustingly pale and unblemished stomach again.

She didn't believe him.

He could tell that she didn't believe him.

Sick, embarrassed tears started to burn in his eyes again, and the only reason Roy was able to hold them back this time was because he knew how much it would hurt his stomach if he gave into them.

The medi-witch turned quietly around him for several moments more, gazing down at him through pursed lips; Roy was too petrified to say a single word. There were no bruises. Not that he could see. The worst of it was a vague, faint redness scattered about, the gentlest discoloration that looked like not even a rash, or as if he might've just taken a shower that was a little bit too hot.

There were no bruises. Not on the outside.

He still hurt so badly he didn't even have to wonder if they were there on the inside.

Madam Pomfrey gave him another stern sort of appraisal, silent and with heavy eyes that made him feel like he was under a microscope. It took another stern, hesitant few moments of her just watching him for her to whip her wand back out, and Roy couldn't help it; he flinched and bit his tongue, desperately silencing the terrified whimper, but she did nothing more than give his chest a firm tap with the gently glowing tip.

"There we go," she said after a few moments, kneeling down a bit to bring them right to eye level. "Does that feel better?"

Roy fidgeted uncomfortably again.

No.

Considering his stomach still felt like an angry, snarling wolverine had nested inside his ribs and had been gnawing at his organs since last night?

No, it didn't feel any better at all.

He wondered if she'd even done anything at all, or had instead just tapped him with her wand and got down to smile at him the way his sisters gave him chicken noodle soup when he was sick. It didn't _actually_ do anything except make him think it was working, so if there wasn't anything _actually_ wrong with him, then it was probably the best she could do for him.

Too bad there was something actually wrong with him.

"A... a little," he hedged at last, not able to bring himself to even meet her eyes. "It still... really hurts, though..."

There was an awkward, disquieting pause. Madam Pomfrey frowned silently down at him again, so stern he could not bear it.

Until at last, with nothing more than a gentle pat to the shoulder, she turned away. "Well, as I said, if I can't find what's wrong, I can't do much to help you. However, if you do feel that unwell, you may remain here for a few hours. However, I hope you don't intend to make a habit of this, Roy."

Then, she was gone, walking back towards her office without another word.

When the door thudded firmly shut behind her, and he was left sitting there, still exposed, still cold, and now, alone, the sick silence that expanded in her wake left him feeling easily twice as worse as he had before.

She didn't believe him. He could tell. She thought he was faking, or maybe just had an upset stomach from lunch, or was trying to get out of class, and she looked at him and saw nothing more than a loser faking sick, and was only letting him stay at all because he somehow still had the benefit of the doubt.

Roy shut his burning eyes tight, and wrapped his arms around his aching, miserable stomach again.

Then, as gingerly and gently and slowly as he could bear, he tilted himself down onto the thin cot, and buried his face into the already well-abused pillow.

His stomach still hurt so badly moving even that much was almost beyond him.

He supposed Madam Pomfrey was probably right, to look at him so suspiciously. There weren't any visible bruises, and... and it was _true._ He was here to get out of class. That didn't mean he was faking the pain, but- that was why he was here.

When breakfast time had come that morning, Roy had squeezed his eyes shut tight as a grindylow's mouth and curled himself up in bed and not dared to move a single inch. He'd listened to his roommates move around him, laughing noisily and joking about with such carelessness, he'd flinched so hard it made his stomach _hurt_ when a pillow had gotten tossed in his direction, but then they'd gone.

And he had just stayed there, curled up, frozen, and all alone.

He hadn't dared to move for another ten minutes after they'd left.

He'd skipped breakfast that morning, too. As badly as his stomach hurt, Roy wasn't even sure if he was hungry or not- but when he'd unfurled a little bit in his bed, finding himself empty, hollow, numb, and so covered in shredded paper he felt a bit like a rubbish bin, he had known he wanted to avoid his roommates far more than he'd wanted to eat.

So he'd picked himself up, hugged himself with one arm and sobbed silently in the bathroom as he tried to brush his teeth and hair without making it hurt even worse, and gone to class.

He'd sat silently through Transfiguration and Charms this morning and afternoon, hugging himself again in his seat and not daring to say a single word. He'd situated himself on the Gryffindor side of the classroom, and the muted stares and muffled whispers he got were honestly no worse than his own House had been giving him this whole stupid time, so he'd just shut his mouth and let his face burn and said nothing.

Even when Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick asked him if he had his homework, then sighed with stern disappointment and taken house points when he'd shaken his head no.

Even when Lucius turned in his homework if his name on it, and he heard- he _heard_ \- Kimbley snicker.

Kimbley...

Roy hiccuped through the tightness in his throat, curled even tighter around the pillow, and tried really hard not to think about it.

_He..._

_He was my friend._

But after Transfiguration, after another skipped meal, after Charms-

_Have fun in Quidditch tomorrow, baby-Roy._

...

After Charms had been Quidditch.

Roy, even as he fought as _hard_ as he could to contain it, just could not keep the tiny moan locked back in his throat where it belonged.

His legs had gone numb again at the mere thought of flying. His stomach had flip-flopped and his heart had pounded into a suffocating sprint at the mere thought of doing it front of- _them._

And his mind had revolted at the very real problem of his insides feeling like they'd been mauled by a wild bear, and _physical activity._

Even if he was a pro-Quidditch player, Roy imagined trying to fly right now would just end up with him facedown in the grass and trembling in agony.

He was no pro-Quidditch player.

So he'd moused over to Madam Hooch, he'd tried really hard not to see the Slytherins all staring and snickering under their breaths, and with a downturned face he'd whispered- pleaded- that he didn't feel well, and really thought he needed to go to the hospital wing.

Like Madam Pomfrey, he wasn't too sure she'd believed him.

But he still had the benefit of the doubt, and had somehow been granted the permission to turn his back on the soft, grating catcalls and jeers, and slink his way back on into the castle.

Safe for another week.

...and, if... Kimbley decided to- to do- _this,_ again-...

If he...

"No," Roy whispered, but then to his ears, it failed to be anything more than a desperate whimper. "No, he- he- he can't. He wouldn't, I- he won't-"

_...mother was a waste of space whore..._

The panic clutching at his chest melted into a slow, creeping despair, and, slowly, Roy found himself melting down into the bed right down with it.

Kimbley, very clearly, was not his friend.

Kimbley had hit him forty times last night for losing Slytherin House points- and he'd already lost ten more points _today._

Kimbley, because no matter how desperately Roy wanted to, he could not deny it anymore- was very clearly out to get him.

This _was_ going to happen again. He couldn't stop it. They were going to come at him again and he wouldn't be able to run away and next week he was going to end up right back where he'd run away from today: hugging himself as he stood outside, in miserable pain and embarrassment, all eyes on him, as he stood there with a broomstick... and couldn't do it.

_I can't do it I can't do it I can't do it..._

Madam Hooch had been right, to frown down at him like he was a little liar. Madam Pomfrey had been right, to think he was faking.

And McGonagall was right to be disappointed in him, and Flitwick was right to think he was too stupid to do his own homework, and Slughorn was right to ignore him, and his classmates were right to hate him, and Kimbley had been _right_ to- to-

To laugh at him, hit him... take the letter from his _family_...

Roy squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face into the one hand he had that wasn't clutched desperately around his stomach, and bit into his palm to stop himself from crying out.

And for the first time since Lucius Malfoy had thrown his water to his chest, and his terrible year at Hogwarts had started, Roy knew what he wanted.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to open his eyes and be back in his bed at home, with his sisters cooing over him so much he wanted to die. He wanted to see Mia rolling up her sleeves swearing to hex whoever had done this to him and for Marie to hug him and tell him it was all going to be okay and Chris to stand at the door smiling down at it all. He wanted to go home _right now_ and never set foot in this stupid school ever again.

But he couldn't go home. He could not run away. In a few hours, he was going to have to drag himself back together and go back to his common room with the people who'd done this to him and give them the chance to do it all over again. All he had right now was one afternoon safe and alone in the hospital wing to miss his family so hard his heart hurt, and feel so lonely he couldn't even breathe through it.

So Roy curled up in the uncomfortable, small bed, he wrapped himself tight around his even smaller pillow, and for the first time, he shut his eyes, and let himself cry.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey came back to wake him up after a little while, telling him it was time for dinner in the Great Hall and if he felt better now, he should go. Roy did not feel better at all. Roy's insides curled up and died and the mere thought of the existence of light- noise- crowds- _the Slytherins._

Roy was terrified, and did not want to go.

He shook his head like in a meek, whispering whimper, and mumbled that he did not feel better.

_Baby..._

He could tell Madam Pomfrey still had not believed him.

But he had not quite outstayed her patience yet, either, because she'd returned a few minutes later with a tray lukewarm soup and a slice of chocolate just a bit too soft. He suspected it was really just another attempt to cajole him into giving up the act and slinking on; tempting him with the banquets in the Great Hall, reminding him of what he was missing while sitting here alone in bed.

Roy's already aching, empty stomach twisted with nausea at the mere thought of sitting down at the Slytherin table, and he knew if actually tried doing it for real, he might find himself throwing up all over himself.

The chance to be able to actually eat something by himself, where he knew none of his classmates could find him, was easily one of the best things he'd heard all day.

Roy waited for the medi-witch to retreat back to her office to pull the soup closer to him, curled up as carefully as he could back against the headboard and sitting up only as much as he had to. But looking too closely at the soup reminded him of home again, and, quite frankly, his stomach already hurt too badly for him to want to let himself get upset for the second time.

So while he struggled through his first meal all day, Roy gingerly heaved his book bag up off the floor, and pulled out the very first book he grabbed, and opened it to study.

Kimbley could take his notes, and he could take his homework, but that...

That _son of a bitch_ could not stop him from doing even this.

He was _going_ to do well. He was _going_ to stop letting his professors and family down.

He was _going_ to have something to be proud of when he went back home at the end of the year, and Zolf Kimbley, Lucius Malfoy, and Arcturus Black scoffing at his family to call them _not worthy_ was not going to stop him.

Roy, still half curled up on his side, spoon clutched in one shaky, cold hand, carefully maneuvered his textbook into his lap to read his find. _A History of Magic._ Roy rolled his eyes to himself, then stopped, shuddering at the pain that rolled through his shoulders and his mouth. Because his mouth _hurt._ He'd bit his tongue and cheeks in all his struggling the night before, sometimes to the point of bleeding- even the lukewarm soup was almost too much for him, but balancing that and the aching hunger of his desperately empty stomach...

Roy sniffed softly again, rubbing his dirty sleeve across his eyes, and buried his focus back into his book.

History of Magic was probably his dullest subject, but he supposed, if he really thought about it, studying for it wasn't too bad. As tired as he was right now, something as boring and tedious as mind-numbing dates and names was what he needed.

Yawning again, one hand still spooning through soup, Roy situated the book closer to himself and curled tighter. He flipped it open right in his lap.

Only for it to flip open right near the end, and reveal a thin sheet of parchment, sandwiched straight between the pages like a bookmark, left waiting for its next reader to find.

Roy blinked.

...huh...?

That... that was new, wasn't it? Maybe he'd got this book secondhand, but he'd used this book before, more than once, even- and it had been weeks, now. He would've found this bookmark before now. But did that mean someone else had been using his book...?

Frowning to himself, Roy slipped the parchment out, glancing over the pages through another mouthful of soup. It was a chapter on the First Wizarding War, a few uprisings and a dozen or so centuries ahead of where they were at in class now. Even more confused, now, Roy started to unfold the flimsy bookmark, hoping perhaps it might shed some light on this-

Then stopped dead.

Right there, circled in dark blue, neat ink, was the header _Role of Ling-Fen Mustang._

...

Why was his father in his History of Magic textbook?

A slow seed of suspicion wormed its way deep into his stomach.

Roy remained curled and quiet for several stunned seconds, just staring blankly down at the worn pages, bookmark and soup forgotten. Something uncertain clutched at his throat and in that heartbeat, he couldn't do anything but just gape at the pages and fail to even think.

He did not know very much about his family. Nearly all of his earliest, actually coherent memories were being raised with Christmas and his sisters. He knew, simply, what he had been told- and he had not been told much. But he had never felt the need to know much, either. He'd always been happy with his aunt and sisters. They'd given him more family than he ever could've wanted, and the few times he'd gotten lonely and missed what he might've had, he'd found himself surrounded by so many of the family he had _now_ that the upset had been forgotten by the next day. He'd picked up pretty early on that his aunt didn't like talking about her brother or his wife, tending to change the subject whenever she could, and soon, Roy had just quit asking. It had obviously pained her to remember it, more than it had helped him to hear it.

All he really knew about Ling-Fen and Aurora Mustang was that they'd married young, died when he was even younger, and he'd then gone to live with his aunt who had moved here with his father from China.

So why, exactly, was _his father_ in his _History of Magic_ textbook?

The suspicion wormed even deeper throughout his chest, and for a moment was buried so far into him it felt like a rock had sunk right into his stomach.

Roy narrowed his eyes in the silence of the hospital wing. He swept his gaze over the edge of the book, searching for any sign of any other hopeful patients. He glanced back over his shoulder, ensuring the door to Madam Pomfrey's office was, indeed, still shut.

He took as deep a breath as his hurting stomach could bear.

And then, he buried himself into the chapter, and read.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he did end up getting sick after all.

* * *

The weeks passed.

Roy kept his head down.

This dissuaded nothing.

It wasn't long before Roy found himself trying to make his existence as small as possible- and wonder, if he wished hard enough, he could get rid of his own existence all together.

Maybe then, the other Slytherins would stop coming after him.

* * *

It was mid-October, when Quidditch season kicked into gear. Roy, even in his own little bubble of isolation, heard his classmates talking about it all the time. Gossiping about who played what positions, who had the best teams, which House was best positioned to take the championship this year. The excitement seemed to mount up higher and higher and higher as the date of the first game drew ever closer, infecting all the way up to even their professors, and by the time the final week had approached, Roy could barely turn a corner without seeing someone wave a team banner or chanting a fight song.

When the morning of the first game finally game, Gryffindor against Slytherin, Roy was prodded out of sleep early that morning by his roommates' voices. Constant bickering and gossiping, winter jackets and scarves thumping about the room, books tossed, bets placed. He heard Lucius and Arcturus snicker about their hopes that the Gryffindor seeker would be knocked out of the air, and couldn't stop himself from flinching at the high five, when Kimbley remarked he wouldn't mind that just for the chance to see what the crash landing looked like on the ground below.

They were still chatting and laughing, when the door to their room swung shut, and the three friends continued to walk away together down to the Great Hall.

Roy stayed curled up in bed, withdrawn into the tightest ball that he could bear underneath the blankets, and didn't dare even consider moving, until all the sounds had long passed faded away.

He wasn't planning on going down to the games.

In fact, listening on to the gentle ticking of the clock by his head, at last the only sound to shatter into the silence of his now deserted dormitory, it took him a long time to work up the will to get out of bed at all.

That was one of the many habits he had just taken to, as of late. Lying in bed, unmoving and silent, even against the occasional whacks of pillows and, on his more miserable mornings, stuffed full book bags, until Kimbley had led the others out, and he was alone.

Attracting attention was a good way to get himself shoved down to the floor, and that was if he was _lucky._

It was safer, to stay curled up a motionless, inanimate doll, until Kimbley and the others were gone.

It was late into the morning this time when Roy finally fumbled his way out of bed, one arm curled loosely around his stomach and the other, trembling, clutching against his mattress. He hurt inside again. Although Roy was at least finally getting used to moving gingerly enough to bear the pain of it, inching about like a crotchety old man, sitting in class and climbing the stairs however he could make it hurt the least.

He glanced slowly around his deserted mess of a bedroom, eyes drifting along the scattered books, thrown about clothes, the blessed _aloneness_ of it all. Something about it, indeed, just screamed depressingly lonely.

Roy allowed himself one tiny, fragile smile, and for the first time since last night, let himself relax.

He didn't know how long Quidditch games tended to last, at Hogwarts. It didn't really matter to him, either. He was planning on just taking however many hours alone and to himself that he could and that was the end of it. Maybe study a little, if he could manage to motivate himself enough to do it.

There wasn't any point in doing homework. He already knew Kimbley and the others would find it before Monday. If he was lucky, they'd just hide it somewhere in their room, and he'd have to see if he could manage to find it in time after they'd left for breakfast but before class started. If he wasn't, one of them would just turn it in with their names on it.

Or they'd just rip it up.

After getting dressed, Roy found himself again just lingering on in bed for another hour or more, trying to read, mostly failing at it. His stomach hurt and he was tired and alone and safe like this, all he wanted to do was just lie down and sleep.

He was usually in pain, at this point. It was a vicious cycle, or maybe just a depressing one. Kimbley and his friends stole his homework; Slytherins in general spilled crap on his robes or elbowed him out of the way. He ended up late to class, without his assignments, and generally being an incompetent waste of space in class itself as his supplies went missing and materials were jostled. Slughorn in particular thought he was a moron. He'd end up losing house points, no matter how hard he tried not to.

Then, every week, the night before Quidditch, Kimbley, Lucius, and Arcturus would take it out on him again.

Madam Hooch had already taken to frowning at him every time she saw him around school. She thought he was a lazy, slacking liar and would be better off at home rather than wasting her time. She was right. He'd faked being unable to so much as get his broomstick off the ground every class this year; now mockings of _Squib_ joined those of _blood-traitor._

_And it's only October._

How... how was he supposed to keep doing this until June?

Roy took another shaky breath, closing his eyes tightly to shake his head back and forth and balance himself upright no matter the pain in his stomach. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't let himself get upset now, not _now,_ not when this was the one day he had to be safe this whole school year, the _one day_ where Kimbley and Lucius and Arcuturus couldn't touch him- he was _not_ going to waste it crying like a baby.

Determination or no, it still took him more than a few seconds to clear his mind and his eyes enough to go for his things again.

Roy had taken to skipping meals, as much as he could. It had been a few weeks before he'd finally settled into some sort of unhealthy pattern; eating as much at lunch as fast as he could, then stashing some bread or an apple or something in his things and sneaking into the library with it for later. Meals were just... too painful. Sitting there miserable at the end of the table, trying not to hear the whispers or let his face burn at the dozens of Slytherins who'd push themselves away to stare- usually ending up with a biscuit lobbed at his face or juice accidentally-not-really spilt all over him.

After one particularly terrible dinner, when not a single person had said a word to him all day, and he'd ended up in the bathroom wringing out a shirt sodden with cranberry juice over a tiny sink, he'd decided to just stop going.

Hiding food in his bag had always been a bit of a gamble, because the Slytherins always _saw_ and thought it was hilarious- but at this point, Roy was beginning to think they'd find things to mock him for if he just stood there and breathed. Kimbley and his friends found it sometimes, and that- that ended bad, but, they didn't find it _every_ time, so there was always the chance...

Roy finally grabbed his bag's strap out from underneath his bed and tugged. Swallowing hard against another yawn, he knelt down, preparing to dig through it in hopes that at least some of what he'd scavenged had survived, because his stomach hurt badly enough today he had no interest in dragging himself all the way up to the Great Hall.

And then, his bag twitched.

Roy froze.

Had... his things just...?

...no... of course not. No. Obviously, it just all in his head. No. It hadn't...

Gulping nervously again, Roy began to reach towards it again.

It twitched a second time.

And Roy was left to blink senseless at it, and just stare.

Okay. Not in his head, then.

Trepidation started to build, clutching at his insides as he drew back another shaking step, suspicion running wild. Had they hidden something in his bag...? Gone hunting for some wild, rabid animal and stuffed it in there in hopes he'd reach for his books and wind up mauled? Bitten, poisoned, cursed, perhaps eaten alive? Robbed Professor Grand's office for the worst creature he had then left it in there just for him?

He believed it. He believed it in a second without any hesitation whatsoever, and found himself scrambling back with a knot in his stomach and a whimper in his throat, because there was not a single shred of doubt in him that his roommates would love to come back to him bleeding and mauled on the floor.

When his bag twitched again, Roy scrambled backwards with another near squeak of a whimper, wand in shaking hand even if he barely knew what to do with it. He was terrible at magic, struggling desperately in literally every class, but this- surely he could do _something_ -

Gulping again, he drew back as very far as he dared, clutching onto his bed posts with each foot hopped firmly off the ground. He directed his wand back down as firmly at the bag, and then just hoped really, _really_ hard that it would work.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa,"_ he gasped.

The squirming, lumpy mess that was his bag, with a stilted, jolted jerk, clawed its way up into the air.

Except Roy didn't have time to feel relieved about it, because almost instantly, the source of all the squirming thumped down straight out of it, and his relief was catapulted straight into shock instead.

Kimbley's cat.

Kimbley's young, squirming, white... and obviously terrified cat.

Because the instant the poor thing hit the ground it bolted, mewing and whining, so fast Roy barely even recognized it for what it was as it blurred off, sprinting away from Roy to curl up into a trembling lump, pressed hard back against the nearest wall with its head buried and tail curled tight. It mewed over and over, small, tiny noises of high-pitched fear, never once seeming as if he'd even _thought_ of striking back.

And Roy was left to stand there, wand clutched and awkwardly curled for safety around his bed posts, and gawk in complete disbelief.

What?

 _What_ on _earth?_

For several seconds, Roy had absolutely no idea what to think.

The cat mewed softly again. Just a gentle little squeak, buried deeply into his paws. The tail twitched harder against the floor.

Slowly, still blinking in disbelief, Roy ventured just enough forward to lift his- now much lighter- bag off the ground. Without daring to take his eyes off the strange cat, he turned it upside down over his bed, dumping out all its contents to try and see just what on earth had been going on in there.

Textbooks scattered across his bed, one by one and heavy. A few sheets of parchment, mostly empty, since Kimbley tended to tear up anything with writing on them.

And, lying against the previously folded up ball of his scarf for safe keeping, were the biscuits he'd taken from the Great Hall.

One had an especially big bite already taken out of it, scattered amongst a mess of crumbs, and it took Roy several seconds to understand that the cat had been eating it.

Which, if he really thought about it, left him even more confused than before.

He hadn't even known that cats could eat bread. And, moreover, why _had he?_ Why had he gone digging into his stuff for his wrapped up and hidden biscuits? That had been all Roy had today! Didn't Kimbley feed the stupid thing?! _That was all he had!_

Roy inched forward on his knees, lips pulling back into a near snarl as he felt his hand tighten around his wand again; why, he didn't know, because he had no idea what he was going to do, but just with the instinct of it. So even Kimbley's cat hated him now, was that it? It wasn't enough that every last one of his roommates hated his guts and made his life miserable- now even the stupid _cat?!_

Roy tensed again, spine curling and blood just _boiling._ In that moment, it probably was a good thing he was so terrible at magic, because if he'd had the ability to do it, he found himself so disgustingly blinded with a rage that had been building for weeks that if he could've cursed the poor cat, he would've.

Then, as he pushed himself forward, breaths ragged and anger coursing and mind just wiped blank of all sanity and reason, it hit him.

The cat was still just... sitting there.

Curled up into a tiny, trembling lump, desperately trying to make himself as very small as he could, mewling and shivering as if...

As if he expected to be hit.

And then, as Roy still stood there, wide-eyed on his bed, and the cat still sat there, trembling on the floor, he realized several other things.

Like the fact that the cat had been digging through his things to scavenge bread, when cats did not typically eat bread, or hunt out hidden, put away bags to dig through scarves and books to find food.

Like the fact that despite being dumped on the floor by a stranger, he'd bolted in terror and hadn't stopped shaking but hadn't run away, either... as if he'd already been taught that running away didn't help anything at all.

Like the fact...

Was that _blood?_

There, near his rough, pretty uncomfortable looking collar... stained against his white fur... the scarlet splash of an old, angry wound.

Roy remained there frozen for several seconds more.

And then, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

"...Oh," he breathed, and sagged straight back down to his bed.

For the very first time, he finally understood just why Kimbley had brought a cat to school instead of an owl like everyone else.

His poisonous, disgusting rage slipped, tumbling down a cliff to roll into a ball of sick guilt instead, and for a moment, he wanted to whimper just like the cat.

Oh.

Slowly, carefully, Roy dropped himself to sit back down on the edge of his bed, legs swinging, cat still mewling. His stomach protested angrily at the movement, both hurting and hungry, reminding of him what had prompted all of this in the first place, and he reached back for one of the biscuits.

The cat mewled again.

And again, guilt clutched its claws right into his stomach.

Roy could always get more food. He hated it, and the thought of sitting just _alone_ at the Slytherin table was worse and worse every day to the point where he was so anxious it nearly made him want to throw up- but he _could._ Nobody was physically blocking him from doing so. He could eat as much as he liked.

That wasn't so, for Kimbley's cat.

That cat was dependent on Kimbley to feed him. And...

And Roy didn't think Kimbley was feeding him.

Roy hesitated again. He stared back to the meager collection of biscuits scattered across his bed. All he'd been able to scavenge, and all he'd been looking forward to all morning, because he was _starving._ He was constantly starving, barely one meal a day, and this would've been the first time since coming here where he could actually eat in peace and enjoy it. It was all he'd wanted.

Slowly, he bit down into his already abused lower lip.

Then, squeezing his already stinging eyes shut, Roy swallowed away the lump in his throat with every last bit of strength that he could.

He picked up one of the biscuits, settled himself back down on the floor, and placed it in between them.

The cat continued to huddle up and tremble. He did not even try to look up.

A few awkward minutes passed in uncomfortable silence.

And then- god knew why, because he certainly did not- he just started _talking._

"Hi," he said softly. "I'm Roy." Slowly, achingly, he pulled his knees up to his chest, and that hurt, too, so he shifted himself back against his bed, leaning his head against the sheets and wishing for more warmth than that. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name. I don't think Kimbley's ever said it near me." Something uncertainly and miserably sad occurred to him, and he peered even closer, head tilting to the side. "Do... do you even have a name?"

The cat trembled still. His tail thumped on the floor.

And Roy had never really had a pet before, his aunt's bar had never been safe for one, but he'd always really _wanted_ one, and he'd talked a lot to the smaller, cuddlier magical creatures some of the customers had brought along, so he decided to just pretend this cat was like them and forge his way on. "Kimbley gave me a name," he confided gently. "He... he calls me baby. I don't like it very much. But I get the feeling he doesn't give anyone names that they would like. Is... is it okay if I call you Snowbell? You know, because you're white, and-?" Another nervous laugh spilled out and he scratched his hair, averting his eyes again again. "I'm sorry. I haven't... really talked to anyone in a while. ...I think I'm going to call you Snowbell."

The cat- newly christened Snowbell- shifted and shivered a little again. Roy liked to think it was smaller than before, but, either way, he really couldn't manage anything at all more than just talking to him and hoping for him to realize that he wasn't like Kimbley.

"Kimbley's mean to you, isn't he?" He didn't dare approach the cat still, but turned his face a little more in his direction, again swallowing at the lump in his throat that just wouldn't go away. "He's... not nice to me. They- nobody is, but Kimbley's t-the... the worst. He d-doesn't... I'm sorry, it's- it's nothing. I'm sorry. It's probably nothing compared to what he does to you." He smiled at the trembling lump, or, at least, he tried his very hardest to. "But we're okay today. We're safe for a few hours. Kimbley's not here, so he can't do anything to either of us. So you're okay, see? We're both okay today. And- and please eat. The food has to be gone before he gets back and I'll feel rotten if you don't eat any, okay, Snowbell?" Roy gently reached down to nudge the biscuit just a little bit closer, still smiling- voice still threatening to waver. "I'm... I'm real sorry for scaring you earlier. I didn't know you were in there. But you can eat them, promise. I won't mind."

It took a few minutes again. Roy silent, curled up just as tight as the cat, just sitting there. His stomach growled, and he hugged himself even tighter, because no matter what he could _not_ give in.

Until at last, the cat inched a paw out, and crept his way very carefully closer to the food.

Roy's face finally split into a small, heartfelt attempt at a smile.

"I'm busy a lot," he murmured again, setting another biscuit on the floor. "Well- I guess not _busy,_ just... not here. I hide in the library a lot, but people keep finding me there, now, too... maybe if I find- I don't know, an empty classroom or something- maybe they'll leave me alone. I don't know. But- ah, I'm sorry, I got distracted... I told you, I'm not really used to talking to people anymore." He smiled a little down at Snowbell, this time leaving his hand on the floor. He doubted the cat would trust him enough to let him pet him or even come within reach, but... he figured it'd be there just in case he wanted it. "My point is, I won't be here that much but- if ever I'm here and he's not... you can hang out with me. I can't do anything more for you than that but... well... if you want, I guess."

He hesitated again, this time watching as Snowbell carefully crept his way forward, nibbling hungrily at the food. Roy miserably wondered when the last time Kimbley had even fed him was. "I don't know about you, but the worst part for me... it's not really what he _does._ I mean- if I could get him to stop I _would,_ it hurts and I hate it but- but that's not all. It's not even all _Kimbley._ It's that... everyone j-just..."

The cat whimpered a little, eating another bite. This one was bigger than before, and as he ate the cat seemed to gain more and more strength and confidence, drawing closer, turning his attention to the remaining biscuits.

This time, Roy's heart sunk, nearly cracking at the innocent, anguished desperation in the motion, and he had to look away.

"...they all hate me."

Because that was the worst part of it.

It wasn't just what Kimbley did to him. It was what _everyone_ did.

They wouldn't talk to him in class.

They wouldn't sit with him at lunch.

They'd glare and snicker in the library, whisper and close ranks in the halls.

Not just the first years. Everyone in Slytherin House. Even those who hadn't cared either way in the beginning- he saw it in them now. They cared _now._ He heard it in the whispers; _baby-Roy, blood-traitor, Squib._ The Gryffindors he had to sit with, too, because if he sat with the Slytherins in class they could get violent, but the Gryffindors just glared and muttered to each other; _weirdo, loser, freak._ He saw it even in how his professors looked at him now. Madam Hooch thought he was a liar. Professor McGonagall thought he was a disappointment. Professor Slughorn fawned over Malfoy and Black and Kimbley yet Roy wasn't sure if he'd even come to his desk in two weeks.

He'd been at Hogwarts for well over a month, now, and the only time he'd ever even thought he'd had a friend had been Kimbley.

And Kimbley was not his friend.

And that, Roy had learned, was the worst part of it.

He'd take Kimbley beating him every single stupid night, if he had friends during the day.

If someone, anyone at all, would just _talk to him._

Roy swallowed desperately hard again, rubbing his face against his sleeve. He absentmindedly placed the last of his biscuits down on the ground for Snowbell, then left his hand upturned near it, wanting to coax him just a little out of his shell. Getting upset would just make everything even worse.

It occurred to him then, like a blow to the head that hurt all the way down to his toes, that this was easily the most he'd talked in weeks. He laughed again, shaking his head and trembling, rubbing a hand against his face again. "I'm sorry," he said again, trying still to smile. "I don't even really know what I'm complaining about... it could be worse, I guess. You're innocent, there's- there's nothing wrong with _you._ You're probably smart, aren't you, Snowbell? You're not an idiot like me. Your parents didn't... d-didn't..."

Snowbell mewled softly again. This time, when he moved onto the third and final biscuit, Roy felt his head just barely brush against hand, and this time, Roy needed the contact enough that he just couldn't stop himself from turning his hand back over to grasp tremblingly against the cat's paw. "I found out what they did," he choked out, "and I was so- so _mad._ I can't believe- h-how _could they-_ how could _she-_ and- and no one told me! No one _ever_ told me! This whole time no one ever thought to just take me aside and explain- _not even my family!_ " He sucked in another frantic breath against his hand, abruptly distraught and hating himself for it, but now that he was talking he just couldn't stop. "I wrote to her, Aunt Chris, I asked her why she didn't... I don't know, tell me? Warn me? I don't know why, I- I don't even _have_ the letter anymore, I threw it away so Kimbley couldn't get it, but she just said she was sorry, that she'd talk to me when I got home but wanted to explain- why didn't she do it _before?!_ If she had, I'd- I'd- asked the hat not to put me in Slytherin? I don't know, but at least I'd have _known!"_

But he hadn't known. He'd shown up without a clue like an idiot, and he'd walked right into Slytherin smiling and trying to make friends like such a brazen, ignorant moron he'd deserved everything he'd gotten, and it wasn't going to get better.

It wasn't ever going to get better.

Roy found himself swiveling around, getting down on his knees before the cat because he just couldn't stop himself. Wiping his face again, he dropped his hands down, holding them out in as much of an invitation as he could get. And maybe the cat trusted him because he'd fed him, maybe the cat trusted him because he hadn't hurt him- maybe the cat just needed a friend as badly as he did, because the creature nibbled up the last of the biscuits to leave just an array of crumbs and promptly leaped up into his arms, curling against his chest, and Roy couldn't help but hug him back.

Closer like this, now, warm and buried against his chest, Roy could see more than he had before. Scratches half-hidden by short white hairs, a deeper one near his ear, the way he felt too thin and cold, and Roy adjusted his hold to be gentler but still could not let him go.

They just sat there for a while together, Snowbell's eyes half-lidded as his tail twitched and he curled up contentedly, full and happy to be in his arms; Roy starving and cold, just pulled him a little closer to himself and said nothing. He looked out the window to the dark water passing by outside their room, taking in the heavy weight of loneliness that dug through his entire deserted common room, and, for the very first time today, wanted it to end.

The loneliness, the pain in his stomach, the hurt that dragged him down from head to toe...

All of it.

Roy shut his eyes tight, sucking in a near desperate attempt at a trembling breath as very deep as he could. He leaned his head back for a moment, swallowing away at the emotion tightening his throat, and fought for calm.

He didn't have the power to do that. He didn't have the power to end any of this, or stop Kimbley, or make a friend.

He didn't even have the power to save Kimbley's stupid cat.

All he did have, was this.

Roy sat there quietly, not allowing himself to speak again until he'd found himself as absolutely calm as he could make it. Even then, he still made himself take several more deep breaths no matter the pain in his stomach, trying to firmly re-establish himself back down off the edge and somewhere calmer.

He closed his eyes again, and struggled to smile.

"If I could," he started softly, running a hand down Snowbell's head, "I'd leave. I'd go home. And I'd take you with me. Aunt Chris' bar is pretty weird, and you'd be scared at first, but it'd be okay. I'd help you. We don't get too many customers who'd want to hurt you, and I'd make a safe spot in my room for those that did. First there's the bar, downstairs; you could meet most of my sisters down there- they'd all love you, I promise. Aunt Chris would, too. Then we could go upstairs, and I'd show you my room..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so continues my eternal quest to make Roy a cat person, no matter what canon says about it...
> 
> Anyway! Yes, you do find out the story behind Roy's parents in this fic. However, you're gonna have to wait for him to tell Maes about it in a few chapters :) Because he reads about it here, then tells Maes later on, and come on, nobody really wants to read the story twice, do they...? Well, even if you do- too bad! You're gonna have to wait :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos!
> 
> Quite honestly I have a headache, no self control, and YAJJ yelled at me to post early, so here I am! I'll reply to comments in the morning when I feel a little less meh. Thank you all!
> 
> Enter Maes!!!

It took two days after the Quidditch match for the realization to hit Roy.

But boy, when it hit, it struck him like a bolt of lightning on a clear day.

If his common room was safe during games, because everybody was out on the Quidditch pitch...

Maybe the Quidditch pitch would be safe every other time.

* * *

The first day that week, when classes ended, Roy bundled himself up, and made his way outside down to the Quidditch pitch.

And his first impression was that it was... big.

Very, very big.

He'd seem some scattered pictures of it before, but those had always been of games, when there'd been banners, flags, crowds... actual people. It had looked smaller, somehow, when it was so full of life, black and white cheering crowds packed into the stands, teams hugging each other and posing on the field.

Now, it was empty.

He felt so small the crushing emptiness of the stands all but suffocated him.

It was also cold.

Not so cold it was uncomfortable to be out here, but it was autumn, soon to be winter, and it was cold _enough_ that Roy could tell sitting still up in the stands was going to leave him miserable and shivering before too long.

He wasn't supposed to be back in his common room for another four hours.

Somewhat unsettled, Roy hugged himself again, arms wrapping around his stomach as he stared up around the deserted stands. The brusque wind curled at his hair, too cold and harsh and long, and he just couldn't help but shiver.

But it was safer than the library.

It was safer than everywhere else in the entire school, and, keeping that in mind as firmly as he could, Roy tugged his bag a tad more securely over his shoulder, and turned to climb up into the stands to find somewhere hopefully a bit less blustery to sit.

"Oh! Hey! Oh! Hi! Hello!"

Roy jerked to a trembling halt, and his entire fragile, desperate bubble of hope was wrenched so badly off the tracks it nearly shattered all over the cold ground.

No, no, no, no...

_No, no, no, NO._

"Hi! Are you here to practice, too? Hi! Hello!"

That- wasn't supposed to happen. Just not. He was supposed to be alone out here. Nobody would bother him because nobody was _here._ This was not right. It felt like his entire world view was crumbling to bits, splintering down all over the ground, leaving him hopeless and helpless and _miserable_ and for several moments, he found himself so just _done_ he wanted to drop down and curl up in the grass, and stop existing.

He was supposed to be alone out here.

He was supposed to be _ALONE._

Roy, equal parts frustration and sick anger pulsing through him from head to toe, forced himself to take as deep a breath as he could, then counted to three.

He turned around.

There was another boy. Standing there. grinning huge, staring right at him. By his robes, a Hufflepuff, and Roy hadn't realized how terror-inducing the little green and silver snake emblem of a Slytherin had become for him until he saw that boy was lacking it. A first year, probably. Maybe a second year. Vaguely recognizable the way pretty much everyone else after passing in the hall so often, not familiar in any way other than that.

It still felt like Roy's entire world was dropping out from underneath him, and he wanted nothing more than for that boy to go away.

"...hi," he mumbled back, warily, guarded. He dropped his eyes back down to the ground, just unable to stop his arms from curling loosely over his stomach.

There was a short, uncomfortable sort of silence.

The boy prodded a little closer, over-eager and obviously thrilled. "Are you out here to practice, too?" he asked again, this time holding out his broomstick. "No one's been out here like that for a while, since it started getting cold. Well, and the teams, but they're usually in the morning or weekends. It's been getting lonely; are you going to practice with me?"

It took Roy a few moments to even understand what on earth the other boy was talking about. When the realities of it at last filtered through his black, miserable haze; the broomstick, the Quidditch pitch, _practice,_ it felt like a hand grabbed at his insides and just _twisted,_ pulling so hard he was nauseous and just could not stop his feet from backing away. "N... no," he rasped, eyes still only for the grass beneath them. "I- no. I'm... I'm out here to read. No."

"Read?" The other boy chuckled a little, drawing ever closer, and Roy hated it. "You know we've got a library, right? What about this makes you think it's a good spot for reading?"

Roy fidgeted uncomfortably on his feet again. He did not- could not- bring himself to look up.

There was another short pause of dreadful, awkward quiet.

"...well, um." Some more fidgeting. "I'm Maes! And you- I've seen you around, people talk about you... you're Roy, right? That weird-"

The boy stopped short, voice cutting off into a little squeak. He sounded almost like a little mouse, and looked a bit like one, too, fidgeting on his feet and jumping stiff and still, not continuing on. Not moving. Radiating such a palpable wave of awkwardness they could both surely taste it.

And Roy had heard enough.

He pulled his bag even tighter, closer to himself, hugging it to his aching stomach as he turned away, withdrawing without a word. He still couldn't bring himself to look up from the ground as his very last hopes caught in his throat, crumbling and decaying all around him, and he pushed himself with flagging strength right back where he'd came from. _Have fun, Maes,_ he thought to himself, pulling open the door and aiming back towards the castle.

Maybe he'd just find a broom closet in a tower. Maybe he'd learn how to swim and sink to the bottom of the Black Lake until he drowned. Maybe he'd just sit out in the Forbidden Forest.

Get mauled by a Hippogriff.

Whatever.

"Hey, I- wait! Wait, don't go, I'm sorry, I'm sorry- you're not weird, okay? If you want to study out here, you can! I'm sorry!" Maes hesitated again, at least not reaching out to him but by his voice, he actually sounded almost sorry. Like he really was apologizing. "Come on, you can stay, I'll leave you alone and everything, I promise! It'll be fine!"

Roy, hand still gripped tight around the doorknob, found his numb, cold feet swaying to a stop.

Maes sounded like he was trying to be nice. Sincerely trying to apologize.

And all Roy could hear was Kimbley, those first two weeks of school, when he'd pretended to be his friend.

"...I'm sorry," the Hufflepuff said again; just out of the corner of his eye, he saw him raise his hands up in surrender. "I'll leave you alone, really. If you want to read or whatever, then go ahead, just... don't let me chase you off."

Then, without another word or pause, Maes threw his leg over his broomstick, and kicked off the ground.

Roy narrowed his eyes after him, still feeling almost as if something angry and poisonous had clutched at his heart, dragging claws down through him to infect him with a cold, chilling fear. Suspicion snuck around him with an apprehension that nearly tightened his throat shut.

He glanced hopefully up towards the empty stands again.

He could risk giving him a chance, right? Just one chance. That was all. If things went badly he'd never have to come back here again. And besides, Maes wasn't a Slytherin. That alone was enough to give Roy just the slightest bit of hope that the first year wasn't trying to trick him.

Just the slightest bit of hope, but... compared to every other option that he had before him...

Well, that was more than he had anywhere else.

Roy took a deep breath again, and started climbing the stairs.

* * *

It was two more days before Maes tried talking to him again.

The first year landed against the stands in a rush of air, windswept and red-cheeked and panting, hitting his feet hard by the first row of seats while Roy stayed tucked into a corner on the top row. "Hey!" he called breathlessly, smiling too big again as he raised a hand up in greeting. "I just realized- you cold?"

Roy, midway through staring sleepily at the same page of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ that he'd been staring at for half an hour, blinked. He blinked dazedly back at Maes, thrown straight for a loop, and had no idea what on earth he was supposed to say.

"You _cold?"_ Maes asked again, louder this time, as if Roy might've just been incredibly hard of hearing and had missed the question. "You've been just sitting over here forever, I just realized- it's pretty cold out here. Well?"

Roy blinked several times again, finding himself too lost and confused to do anything beyond just stare back. Was he cold? His hands had long ago gone numb. His face and neck were so bitterly cold he wanted to roll up into several blankets and never come out again. The wind was even cutting through his layers, now, making him shiver, his face stung with it- and before Maes had shown up here out of the blue, his teeth had been starting to chatter.

For Merlin's sake, he was folded up against an ugly, dirty corner, knees curled underneath himself and hands curled up in his lap, burying in his robes for whatever meager warmth and protection they could offer.

Of _course_ he was _cold._

"...why?" Roy asked shortly, not daring to even inch his way out of the corner. "What do you want?"

Maes, still just standing there down below, gave him an easy shrug, now starting to unwind his own scarf from around his neck. "It'll help," he insisted, not even waiting to ask him if he actually wanted it or not, still panting a little and smiling, and before Roy knew it it had been tossed up towards him without a single question. "Just give it back when we head inside, okay?"

Roy stared back him in shock, now finding himself with an armful of scarf he hadn't asked for and that wasn't his, but Maes was already turning away, gripping his broomstick tighter again. "Wait!" Roy cried, because he just had to, and then, Maes actually _did,_ just glancing over his shoulder, expectant and silent- and it had been so long, Roy realized, since he'd had a _simple conversation,_ he had no idea what to say.

"...w-won't _you_ get cold?" he stumbled at last, making no move to actually grab the scarf. He felt so nervous and uncomfortable he could barely get the words out at all. "If I have yours and mine?"

Maes shrugged, turning his focus back to his broom again. "Maybe earlier, but now I've been running around for like an hour. I'll be fine! And you're giving it back when we leave, so we'll both be good!" He gripped his broom tighter and kicked off gently, hovering up there and regaining his balance in the air, still windswept and grinning. "Have fun reading!"

Then he was off, zipping back around the field in another rush of wind, and Roy, utterly blank and confused, was left behind.

Several seconds passed in shocked silence, and Roy was left, all but speechless, behind.

He'd been cold, and Maes had... given him a scarf.

And again, Roy remembered Kimbley.

Pushing some spare parchment to him in class- helping him with his homework- sitting with him during meals...

Being his friend, all up until he just-

Hadn't.

Roy swallowed hard again. A cold lump formed in his stomach, hands still laying ineffectual and unguarded on top of the scarf, and he looked back over to where Maes was already zipping around the pitch.

 _It's just a scarf,_ he told himself, breaths held carefully steady even as they tried to lurch out of control with the panic of it. It was just a scarf. That was all.

_You can go back inside at any time, Roy...whenever he does something bad you can just go back inside and never have to see him again._

_It's just a scarf... it's just a scarf... it's just a scarf..._

Roy squeezed his eyes shut, hauled in a deep wheeze of a breath, and buried his hands back down deep in the scarf.

Then spent the next twenty minutes freaking out about it.

* * *

Three days after that, Maes added onto their new routine again by sweeping down next to him to hand over his scarf- and then, without bothering to even explain why, sat down a few seats away, and settled in to make himself comfortable.

"Hi," Maes panted, giving him a brief, energetic sort of wave, then dug down straight into his bag that looked like he'd just picked up from the ground only a minute or two before. "How's it going?"

Roy's instincts instantly prickled right on edge.

Why was he over here?

Why was he sitting there?

Why was he _talking to him?_

"...All right," he said slowly, giving him a guarded glance and fighting back the urge to press himself even tighter into his corner. Just what was he up to now?

The Hufflepuff dug deeper around in his bag for a few moments, frowning down to himself only to at last emerge, bearing- sandwiches? "Hey, you hungry?" Maes asked, proffering his hand a little in his direction. "I guess you eat dinner before, since you always stay out here so long, but that's what I do, too, and I always end up getting hungry again. I usually grab a bit too much for myself, though, so I figured I'd offer." He nudged at him again, sandwich still in the air and grin still firmly in place. "Really, I don't mind!"

_...food?_

This dilemma, unlike the offer of the scarf, was very simple.

He'd gotten used to being somewhat cold.

He _hadn't_ gotten used to being so hungry.

And while half of him wondered nervously if Maes had perhaps poisoned the food, and a whole gang of Slytherins was going to pop out the second he took a bite and howl with laughter while his tongue swelled up or his throat turned to fire or smoke steamed out of his ears, and some other sliver was curled up and sick, terrified of what Maes going to demand from him to pay him back once the sandwich was gone, but the rest of him was starving and saw nothing more than that innocently offered sandwich in his hand.

"...Well," Maes laughed, and Roy felt his surprised weigh on him, but just didn't _care._ "I guess you were hungry after all."

He silently tore as big a bite as he could free, only stuffing back the relieved moan with some tiny little sliver of pride he still had left, and found himself nodding along, just because it was true. It took a few moments for it to really hit him what was going on, then for his face to flood with a new, embarrassed heat, because Maes certainly looked quite entertained, now, and this time Roy couldn't even blame him...

Swallowing as much as he could, Roy gulped in a breath of air, dragging up a hand to cover his mouth. "Thanks," he mumbled, clutching the remains of the food even tighter.

Maes shrugged easily back, settling himself down as he focused down on the food he'd saved for himself. "No problem." He took a bite of his own.

For several moments, it was quiet between them; just the sound of chewing and the wind. As best as Roy could tell, the sandwich was not, in fact, poisoned.

After a pause, he finally actually _looked_ at what he was eating, turning it slowly over in his shivering hands. It seemed to be a ham and cheese sandwich. Or, what was left of it, and a little ragged and smushed, but... a ham and cheese sandwich, all the same. He frowned at it, tilting his head to the side. "Hey-" Coughing, Roy swallowed again, trying to clear away his mouthful, then tried again. "Hey, where'd you get this? I've never seen something like this be served in the Great Hall."

Maes grinned a little, eyes bright behind his glasses, just innocently bright and mischievous in a way that was so warm Roy nearly felt out of place. "Where do I get them...? Well... I _suppose_ I could tell you... but it's a secret, okay? Shh!" He held his finger up to his lips, shushing softly and grinning even bigger. "It's kinda a rite of passage, for new Hufflepuffs. The older students give us a sort of scavenger hunt the first week or so for us to find it on our own. But we actually live like, _right next_ to the kitchens." He took another bite and leaned back, kicking his feet up on the seat in front of him like it was the most comfortable he'd been all week. "The house-elves will you make you literally anything that you can think of. They really, _really_ like making us happy. Oh, but you have to actually be nice to them! They told us stories about people who weren't- some students think the house-elves have to serve _us,_ but really, they're sworn to the headmaster. Hohenheim's ordered them to refuse favors from anyone who doesn't treat them right." He took another bite from his sandwich and winked, even more mischievous than before. "Apparently there are a lot of stories to tell about what they do if someone tries to be mean to them."

Roy, after several slow, slightly uncertain seconds, finally decided that it was safe enough for him to allow a tentative smile. Maes hadn't hurt him yet, and if he'd been lying so far, trying to trick him like Kimbley... well, he had to be doing an awfully good job at it.

Also, this sandwich was the nicest thing anyone had done for him all week.

"I bet," he said quietly back, but then Maes was looking at him too closely, his eyes too piercing, and Roy's gaze was dragged right back down to his knees. It was just too unnerving and he did not like being looked at. "My aunt has a house-elf. Kind of... she won her off a customer who we could all see wasn't treating her well. Aunt Chris offered to dissolve the contract when it was hers, but Laney begged her not to." He managed a weak smile a little himself, a peculiar pain twisting in his chest that it took him a little bit too long to recognize as longing. "She tells stories all the time... only thing worse than having a house-elf, she says, is having one who has it out for you."

Maes snickered back, focusing back down on his own snack. "Sounds about right."

They ate in silence for a few moments more, the Hufflepuff seeming quite content with how things were going, and even Roy found himself relaxing a little bit himself. Anxiety still clenched in his chest, stomach yanked into one big terrified knot, instincts still hovering right over the edge, bracing him for it to all turn around and come back to bite him, but... this was okay so far, right? Everything was still going okay...

Then, after another particularly big bite and hard swallow of his own, Maes turned around towards him, and spoke up again. "What does your aunt do, then? To run into people with house-elves like that?"

Roy, sandwich halfway to his mouth for another bite, stopped.

His insides went cold.

And once again, he remembered Kimbley's words, that _nobody wants anything to do with someone as low class as a barmaid._

His most recent bite went bitter, and his own smile, as desperate and new as it was, began to fade.

"...she works with magical creatures," he mumbled, gaze drawing with a sick guilt back down to his lap. The lie tumbled out with barely even a sliver of hesitation. Was it even a lie? She _did_ work with them, in a way. He wasn't _really_ lying. "I think the house-elf's last master was a collector. Dragon scales, vampire fangs, that sort of thing. I don't really know. ...Sorry."

It was meant to be a dismissal, or as firm a one as he could make it without outright saying it. Because his family wasn't safe to talk about here, and- and if Maes found out everything- if he knew the whole truth like everybody else-

Maes wouldn't be safe anymore.

Roy's stomach turned nauseatingly at the very thought, and he very quickly focused himself back down onto his sandwich, and did not look up again.

"...Oh," Maes said simply. "Okay." He took another bite, and settled warmly back into his seat again.

Roy felt sick again, sick and useless like a liar, and for a moment, wondered if he even deserved for Maes to still be safe at all.

"My dad's a vampire hunter," the Hufflepuff went on after several moments, grinning warmly to him again. "So he's not home all that often, but he has crazy stories whenever he is. My mum's a Muggle." He paused, fingers tangling together in his lap, smile slipping into something almost... wistful. "That's why I'm always out here, actually," he continued, softer and more serious than before. "Since Dad's almost never home, we have to live in the city, so I have to hide what I am. Dad takes me to see a Quidditch game whenever he comes back and I've wanted to fly since I was little, but... I've really never been able to even try until now." He shared another slow glance in Roy's direction, smile broadening again. "Tryouts are already way over for this year, but I guess I wasn't really expecting to make the team my first year, anyway. But I'm gonna make it next year. Madam Hooch is helping me. I'm gonna do it."

...ah.

 _Well,_ Roy considered, tilting his head back in wordless, withdrawn contemplation. That certainly explained why Maes was out here like this, all day, every day. Roy had wondered, but never once even thought of asking for himself to find out.

He hesitantly glanced back down at to Maes' old, school-owned broomstick, then thought about all that he'd watched him fly, just this past week. He... was actually pretty good. Roy had never seen a Quidditch game himself, just the awkward attempts of the others in his class to fly while he stayed firmly rooted on the ground, but- Maes was at least better than all of them.

He fidgeted down in his seat, tongue weighted and awkward, mouth still bitter, and found himself without the words to say it.

"Speaking of that, actually," Maes went on, perhaps just when it became apparent that Roy was not going to. "You've been watching me for days, now... got any tips for me? Like I said, Madam Hooch is helping me, but a second set of eyes can't hurt, right?"

"I- um. I... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm not good at flying. Y-you seem fine, but I'm- I wouldn't know. I'm sorry."

"Hmm?" Maes polished off the last of his sandwich and wiped his face free of crumbs in one breath, still nearly too casual to be believed. "Really? I- I guess I could give _you_ tips, then! If you want, of course. I mean, even if you don't want to fly, you still have to take the class until next year." He stretched as he stood up, hopping down towards where he'd left his broom, then swiveled back around to face him with his mouth still set in a grin. "How about it? Want to come down with me?"

The calm, tentative sense of peace that had settled around them lurched itself right off a cliff, and Roy's stomach knotted so sickly he could not stop himself from flinching back from Maes as if he'd just hit him, right then and there.

No.

On one hand, _no._ Really, really, no, he did not, he never wanted to take flight by even a single inch, no, no, nope. Maes was- okay, _fine,_ he could very reluctantly admit that Maes _might_ be _maybe safe,_ but _might be maybe safe_ did not at all correlate with letting him drag him up into the air. _Nope._ And on the other hand, it was Friday, which meant his roommates had gone after him the night before, and he'd already spent an hour today desperately avoiding broomsticks any way that he could, and his stomach hurt the worst today, and did he mention- _NO?!_

Slowly, feeling rather like a desperate worm was crawling around in his stomach, cold washed through him from head to toe and regret crawling after it, Roy tilted his head in one nervous shake.

And Maes, like he had this whole time, gave him one short blink of surprise-

then let it go.

"Okay!" he exclaimed, shouldering his bag again. "If you change your mind- well, you know where to find me! See you soon, Roy!"

Then he kicked off again, and Roy, again, was left alone.

* * *

The days spilled on.

And their routine developed with it.

Maes just kept... adding things. First it was the scarf, which returned every day after it. Then it was sharing the sandwiches with him, which, again, returned every day after it.

Then, one day, Maes turned up with something extra; candy from the kitchens that he'd split with Roy without a second thought. Or, rather, shoved it into his hands, and not taken no for an answer. Another, Maes had sheepishly flown up next to him with a textbook in his hands, and asked Roy if he could help him figure out a question, since "he was always reading all of the time."

One day, it rained, pouring sheets and buckets outside that were made even worse by the oncoming winter. Everyone was grumpy about it even with them safe and warm inside the castle, and Roy overheard muttering about it all day long.

That night, though Roy waited for hours under what little shelter he could find, Maes never showed up.

Sitting alone, of course, was far preferable than trying to survive unscathed in the castle. Even sitting alone in the ugly, dusty, deserted stadium seats, pressing himself against shelter as tight as he could, and shivering as the rain poured and poured down, and he managed nothing more than just staring down towards the path back to the school, waiting for someone who wasn't going to show up.

But, he'd already known that being alone out here was better than being in the castle.

What he'd been surprised to realize was he liked it better when Maes was there.

The next day, when he couldn't stop sneezing, and the field had been muddy and slick but the air and skies dry, Maes had laughed until he'd nearly turned pink, and shoved his cloak at him as well when he'd handed him his scarf.

Thursday night came again.

He'd lost twenty points that week, and had two worried letters from his family who wanted to know why he wasn't writing them.

Kimbley had taken a particular enjoyment with those.

Then, another lesson of Quidditch. Or, of Roy standing on the ground, sick to his aching stomach and face burning a startling red, as the entire rest of the class fly up above his head, and nearly every Slytherin- and more than one Gryffindor- asked him why Hogwarts had accepted a Squib when they passed him by. Pretty much all had laughed at him.

And then...

Somehow, Roy decided, he had had enough.

* * *

When Maes made it to the Quidditch pitch that afternoon, Roy was waiting for him.

Sick with nerves- and old pain- or not.

The Hufflepuff jogged onto the grassy field just a little bit later than when Roy had arrived, which Roy had been expecting. He carelessly tossed his bag onto the ground, just like he always did, dug out his scarf, just like he always did, settled the school's broomstick on the ground, just like always.

He'd just started stretching, when he saw Roy.

"What- oh! Whoa! Hey!" he stammered, in an almost comical repeat of their first meeting, blinking upwards to him in obvious surprise before his face melted into a grin in what Roy was starting to realize was just his default. "Hey, Roy, what're you doing down here? You surprised me!"

Roy opened his mouth, found it bone dry, and shut it again. The words caught like lead in his throat and his lips felt glued shut, because they just wouldn't come out on their own.

Luckily for him, Maes was very, very perceptive.

The Hufflepuff, when he did not answer him, took only half a second to glance around with sharp, inquisitive eyes. When his eyes alighted on the second broom, he stared again in surprise- then brightened up just like the sun. "Wait, is that what I think it is?!" He was up on his feet in barely a heartbeat, dusting himself off but still beaming right on Roy- for heaven's sake, he looked almost ecstatic. "Are you finally gonna join me?! Am I finally gonna get to see you fly?!"

"I- w-wait- stop, Maes!" Because Maes was approaching him now, too fast and too eager, and that was bad, he didn't like that, he couldn't stop his feet from dragging backwards as panic shot through him in a scalding blow. "Stop, I- I can't fly!"

But this barely even slowed him down, the Hufflepuff still drawing closer and looking about to shake him with excitement. "What are you talking about, you can't fly? Everyone can fly! Come on, even if you're bad at it, let me see! I was terrible when we first started, Roy, I could barely not flip over, but I-"

"I'm serious, Maes, I _can't!"_ Oh, this had been a bad idea, a _bad, bad, bad idea,_ this had been so stupid from the very start- but all he could see was Maes forcing him into the air, and- _NO._ He had to stop him. Even if it would make Maes think him a baby or a loser or a coward, he had to. "I c-can't- I can't fly," he gasped. "I don't like heights and I can't fly."

Finally- _finally-_ this got Maes to slow down.

The smile on his face also started to slip, and he stared back at Roy with green eyes slowly darkening- _with disgust, with embarrassment, because he hates you now, because you're a stupid baby and it's been weeks but you still can't get over yourself, you freak, you Squib, you baby._ He almost turned to run right then and there, run away before Maes could say it for himself and ruin everything he had left, because he felt awful now from head to toe, but...

Maes wasn't laughing at him.

Maes, in fact, was still just _looking_ at him. Still smiling, but not cruelly or mocking, instead his earlier enthusiasm faded into something faintly confused, head tilted to the side and those usually cheerful eyes, just... curious. "You don't like heights?" he asked, blinking over at him. "What do you mean? Have you just... never flown? Ever?" He drew a step closer still, and Roy could not stop himself from flinching straight back. He wasn't mocking him. Why wasn't he mocking him? "I don't understand... what do you do in class?"

Roy stiffened, wavered, and turned his face very quickly away.

Stood there on the ground? Lied to Madam Hooch, sat there like a lazy screw-up, wondered if he could disappear into the grass to never get up again? Watched everyone else fly overhead while he just sat there useless and pathetic?

"...I've flown once," he finally stumbled out. The words were distant and weak to his own ears, and he felt like he was far, far away, just listening to himself from above. "A pro-Quidditch player was a regular at- w-was a friend of Aunt Chris'. He found out I was scared of flying and got me in the air once. I fell and haven't tried it since."

He'd broken his arm in the fall, he remembered. He'd also hit the ground flailing, kicking, and screaming bloody murder.

The pro-Quidditch player had never once come back to the bar again.

"...Oh," Maes said.

The self-loathing and terror crawled back to him, sneaking and suspicious, and Roy found his steps dragging him back again, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to run. What was he thinking, asking _Maes_ for help? Madam Hooch couldn't help him. The pro-Quidditch player from his youth hadn't been able to help him. Maes was a first-year who could barely stay on his own broom; what was he thinking dragging him into his ridiculous problems like this? What was he _thinking,_ expecting Maes not to turn around and laugh at him or worse?

What-

What was he _thinking?!_

"I- should go. I'm sorry. I-"

"Wait, wait, hang on, just give me a second, Roy, we can figure this out- slow down, Jesus-" Maes swung around, blocking his only escape route, and now Roy had nowhere to run, but Maes wasn't reaching out to grab him or hurt him or laugh at him. He just _stood there,_ easygoing, smiling, brow furrowed as he clearly contemplated the situation with everything that he had.

And then, clarity swam across his face, and he brightened all over again.

"I've got an idea," he said, and, grabbing his broomstick up from the grass, without asking even once- he fell right into step with Roy, and pulled him closer to the center of the field.

It was probably for the best, Roy considered, underneath that dazed, terrified panic that swept through him from head to toe. Without Maes, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to walk at all.

The Hufflepuff situated them both deeper into the field, far away from the walls of the stadium and their things, just in the middle of the great, empty space where the only thing they could hit was themselves. Maes planted himself right across from him, so confident it blazed like fire, and pulled his broomstick up between them so he could swing a leg over it.

Then: "Hop on."

"W- _what?"_

"Hop on!" Maes said again, even scooching back a little to make more room. "If you haven't flown yet, that's- that's okay, we just need to get you used to it! So I figured, you can just go with me, all right? I'll control it, you can just be along for the ride- and we'll go slow, if you want. I'll try and make sure we're even still touching the ground, is that okay? We can do it like that for as long as you want!" The Hufflepuff dug his heels a little deeper into the ground, clearly bracing himself to kick off while at the same time, making even more room for Roy, waiting for him without even the slightest sign of impatience.

And Roy, still all but shivering, his heart racing, his nausea and pain pulling ever tighter- he didn't want to do it, he wanted to run away, he wanted to shut his eyes and go home and never face any of this ever again, he-

...

This was really the best that he was going to get.

He'd known from the moment he'd hesitated that afternoon, lingering down on the Qudditch pitch with a broom he did not want nestled in his arm and waiting for Maes, that this was something he'd have to do. He was asking Maes for help to learn how to fly. Well, that meant _flying._ And this- well, this was just better than he'd ever even dreamed of. Wasn't it? Maes flying _with_ him? Maes promising they wouldn't even get his feet off the ground?

It wasn't as if he was ever going to get a better opportunity than this.

Roy hugged himself again, arms looping around his tender stomach as he stared at Maes, the waiting broom, his smile. He still felt sick and terrified, but Maes just sat there and waited for him. Self-assured and confident... _patient._

If he ever wanted to fly, Roy determined, this was going to be that moment.

"You won't get us off the ground?" he asked warily, swallowing hard in the brusque cold of the pitch. "You- you promise?"

Maes smiled even brighter, and nodded. "Promise."

And- that was that, then.

Roy closed his eyes for another tense, impossible moment. He breathed as deep as his sore stomach could bear, and once again, made himself count to three.

Then he dragged himself forward, and for the first time, settled down on the broomstick.

Maes adjusted them both with a practiced air, moving close enough to Roy for his chest to meet his back, wrapping his arms under his so he could grip his- now their- broomstick. "Move like this- put your hands here- no, _here,_ Roy- there we go, okay... all right, I know it's a bit cramped, but- you ready?"

Roy nearly tossed his head back to laugh at the sky, and imagined it would've come out squeaky and hysterical if he had. "Y-yes," he stammered instead. He wasn't, not at all, but whether he was or not, he certainly wasn't going to get any more ready by sitting here for any longer.

Maes laughed a little behind him, one hand moving to pat at Roy's own hand. "Relax!" he ordered, laughing again. "You'll be _fine,_ Roy, I promise!"

"Just- j-just hurry it up before I change my mind," and this time, it was nearly a growl, and was rewarded with little more than another pat to his hand.

"You got it, Mr. Mustang."

Then, the Hufflepuff took in a breath so deep Roy felt it against his collar, and kicked off the ground.

A tiny, desperate whimper scratched straight out his throat. His insides lurched and his panic skyrocketed and he instantly wanted _down._ He locked himself in place only through some lucky miracle, grabbing on as tight as he could and trying to clench his jaw shut, because it was only just a stupid broomstick and he would not _scream,_ but they were moving, they were _flying_ and he wanted _down,_ but Maes was there behind him, saying something, patting his hands, and- and-

And his feet were still on the ground.

They were flying, the broom was in the air, and Maes was controlling their flight path- _but his feet were still on the ground._

He could feel his feet, running gently over the grass. He could even see it, when he wrenched his eyes open and focus back enough to look. Right beneath them, both his and Maes' feet, dragging gently along the ground, as they flew.

They- they flew.

He was _flying!_

"Well?" Maes called from behind him, and there was a nudge on his back; it felt just a little like Maes was headbutting him. "Is this okay?"

Roy gaped down at himself.

The flying broomstick- _flying!-_ and the gentle stability of knowing, of _feeling_ himself still anchored to the ground.

For the first time in weeks, he found himself simply unable to stop himself from smiling.

"It's okay, Maes," he said back. "It's... okay."

And he couldn't believe it, but he meant it.

So like that, they went.

Roy had been watching Maes struggle his way through aerial acrobatics for weeks now. Sure, he was often pretty bad it, but he'd still been _trying-_ trying to roll over in midair, chasing after and trying to catch charmed balls, diving, somersaults... but now he was flying barely a foot off the ground, and at the pace of a sloth, at that.

It was a complete and utter waste of time for him. And for Maes, who wanted so badly to make the house team he was practicing hours and hours out here, all by himself, _every day,_ a waste of time sounded completely intolerable.

But he was still doing it.

They'd not even known each other for a month, and Roy knew, just thinking back over everything, that he had been far less than friendly to him ever since he'd met him... but he was still doing it.

For the first time, he tried to reach back and compare it to Kimbley, because it was just _instinct._ It was safer if he realized everyone was out to get him and fought back before they did, it was better if he didn't dare rely on anyone because they were _going_ to take that support away. So even while he sat there practically in Maes' arms, and completely under his power to be either tossed to the ground or taken miles up into the air because there was nothing he could do to stop it, he thought back hard, desperately seeking to compare it to something, _anything_ that Kimbley had done.

But there was nothing to compare it to.

Roy, inch by inch, began to tenderly pry his death grip on the broomstick looser, and let himself just focus on breathing.

He could do this, couldn't he? Yeah, he- okay, he was still _really_ terrified and nervous, and it wasn't as if he was going to be playing Quidditch any time soon, but... he could do _this._ The bare minimum required for a first year. Couldn't he?

Well, sure, he still hadn't gotten off the ground yet, but maybe it wasn't permanently beyond him. Maybe he could do it, someday. Maybe Maes would be able to get him higher, and then soon Roy would be able to do it by himself. Then maybe he could do it in class, even if Kimbley and the others had hurt him the night before, even with them and Madam Hooch staring at him and expecting him not to rise an inch off the ground. Then maybe-

Maybe-

All right, maybe he was getting a bit ahead of himself, but that was okay, because he was actually _off the ground_ and that was more than he'd ever have dared to even dream for.

Roy shut his eyes, tilted his head back in the rush of the wind, and tried to find calm.

They tumbled awkwardly around the field for some time. It was way slower than Roy had ever seen him fly before, and stupidly low to the ground, and more than a little bumpy, because Roy suspected this broom really wasn't built for two and that Maes was having more than a bit of trouble maintaining such a strange flight path, but the Hufflepuff behind him never once complained. Never _once_ did he open his mouth to try and protest for how dumb Roy was being, how much of his time he was wasting, or if they could even just get off the ground already.

They just kept on flying, scraping along the ground, and Roy tried, tried, and tried to calm himself down.

And then, the ground disappeared.

Something in his brain snapped.

_"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP-"_

"What- R-Roy- _Roy, stop! Calm down! You're-"_

_"STOP STOP STOP DON'T TOUCH ME STOP-"_

_"Roy-"_

Chaos splintered and shattered. Some part of him felt the broom bucking underneath them, some part felt Maes grabbing at him, but the rest only felt _he was being grabbed,_ and then-

_he was in the air he's falling he's falling he's falling nonononono_

_he's going to die he's about to die nonoNO_

His stomach somersaulted and shrieked when he slammed into the ground, but he didn't care because the ground was _safe_ , and he was sobbing as he scrabbled away on his hands and knees like a dog. Someone was yelling and he scrabbled faster; the heat and shock of spells echoed in his mind, violence, cursing, _screaming,_ and he sobbed and crawled until he fell, and there on the ground he sobbed and curled up and hid his head because he just wanted it all to stop.

He didn't realize he was babbling aloud until he ran so desperately out of air he had to wheeze in a great, shaking gasp just to keep going.

_"S-stop... please... I'll be good... stop... d-don't... don't... don't..."_

He heard himself then, and he wanted to stop, but he couldn't. He rocked back and forth and clutched himself and his stomach throbbed but he was just too _scared,_ he couldn't do this, he couldn't be this, he couldn't, he couldn't, he-

"R-Roy? Roy, I'm- I'm so sorry, I thought it was- are you okay? Are you hurt?! Are you hurt?! Oh, no- Roy, please-"

There were hands on him, pulling on his arms, his wrists, and Roy threw himself back again, gasping so hard he nearly choked on it and just wanting him _away._ He barely glimpsed Maes through his wet, streaming eyes, just enough to see that the other boy was _terrified,_ reaching out to him with shaking hands and bone white, but scraped, too, stained with grass and dirt that hadn't been there before. Because he'd fallen- because Roy had _made them_ fall, because he'd freaked out and unbalanced them, and it was all his fault and- and he'd _screwed up-_

"I'm s-sorry," he choked at, because Maes looked so, so _scared_. "I'm not hurt. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

But Maes would not be dissuaded, the Hufflepuff still leaning closer with fluttering, trembling hands, reaching for him over and over like he wanted to make him unfurl then jerking back like he was afraid of touching him. He was babbling, too, finally settling for just grabbing Roy's hand as he talked on, squeezing it like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. "I'm so sorry, it's my fault," he was gasping, "I tried to take you higher, I thought- I'm sorry, Roy, are you okay? Are you okay? I won't do it again, I'm so sorry-"

He was talking too fast. There was too much happening too fast, and he couldn't keep track any more, and Maes just kept _babbling_ and Roy couldn't stop it and he needed, needed, _NEEDED_ everything to slow down-

He dropped his head back down into his knees, and shook his head through one single gasp of a sob.

He wasn't okay at all. That much was so stupidly obvious it'd be pathetic to deny it.

"...I'm sorry," he finally moaned again, because he just couldn't say anything else. His voice came out thick and broken but he fought it out anyway; he just couldn't stop. "It's my fault. I c-can't-... I can't _do it."_

"What are you- no, Roy, it's my fault... of course you can do it! You were doing it just fine! I'm the one who screwed it up..."

Roy might've argued again, because he _wasn't,_ Maes had given him way more time and patience than he ever could've possibly deserved and this was how he repaid him for it, but he didn't have the strength to argue. He barely even had the strength or sanity to speak at all. So he just shook his head and buried it even more tightly in his arms, and Maes stayed there with him, hand awkwardly clutched in his and hovering over him like a protective guard dog of a best friend.

He apologized again every couple of seconds, and Roy desperately wished he'd stop, because that really, really wasn't helping.

"Of course you can do it," he said again at last; Roy, now, could breathe just a little bit easier, but no part of him wanted anything more than to just crawl into bed back home and never face any of this again. "We just need to try- I don't know... something a little less exciting. I... tell you what. Next time- I- I don't mean right _now,_ but- but whenever you want to try again, at least- I'll let you control it, okay? We can do it just like before, but I'll let you take us up whenever you want to. Okay? That's better, right?" He squeezed his hand a little again, voice high-pitched and shaky, but seemed to be struggling as hard as he could to keep himself steady. "And not _now_ , obviously, I just mean- later, I- god, I'm so, so sorry, Roy, I didn't mean to..."

Roy just shook his head again, hiccuping miserably through the wet thickness in his throat but too exhausted to sob anymore. His stomach _hurt._ His whole body hurt, his head hurt, his face hurt. He almost wanted to cry again, this time out of the sheer embarrassment of it all.

Maes just sat there with him on the cold ground, silent in the minutes that stretched on, and doing more than awkwardly holding his hand, and probably seriously re-evaluating the life choices that had led to him babysitting a baby who'd just crashed him and his broomstick.

Oh, god, he'd screwed it up. He'd screwed up so bad. Maes was going to leave. Maes was never going to let him sit out here again, he was never going to look at or talk to him ever again, and he was going to tell all his friends that baby-Roy couldn't fly an inch off the ground without flying off the handle, he was going to _hate him,_ and Maes was never going to give him another chance ever again, and- _and-_

The panicked breaths lurched so desperately from his chest that Roy wasn't sure if he was even getting any air at all.

"I've got an idea," Maes said abruptly, the warm grip on his hand curling even tighter. "Better than the last one, I promise! I promise! Just give me one minute, okay? Will you be okay?"

Somehow, Roy didn't know how, he handled his desperate emotion just enough to tilt his head in a single nod. No. He wouldn't. He wasn't even okay _now,_ but he couldn't let Maes see. He couldn't let him know.

Luckily, Maes still seemed a bit too frantic and frazzled himself to realize the pathetic lie, because the Hufflepuff just nodded and was gone with a scrambling gasp of urgency. He was not gone a minute. He was barely gone half that; Roy knew, because he counted the seconds, measuring his breaths with them to force himself to take them at all, and before no time at all, Maes back, grabbing his hand again but this time pulling him with it. He was babbling again, saying something, but this time Roy couldn't even focus enough to hear him as he stumbled over the ground, struggling to follow along as Maes pulled him back over for them to sit against the nearest stadium wall.

"Look, I- I got our stuff! You like reading, right? Here-" He dropped next to him, and then his scarf was suddenly dropped over his head and wrapped warm and tight, and Maes sat down beside him, fidgeting and rubbing his face and looking so intensely _sorry_ it was almost as if he was about to cry. "We can just sit here for a while, okay? You don't need to fly anymore today if you don't want. We can just do homework over here."

"W-we...?"

Maes, in his digging through his own things, pulling out snacks and books, didn't even hesitate. "Of course _we,_ " he said, simply, brazenly, like it was just a fact of life, then pushed both a book and half the snack pile over at Roy.

_Of course, we._

Roy sniffed hard again, the cold air burning in his chest, and he stared at Maes. The other first year just sat there next to him, flipping through his textbook, stuffing his face, rubbing his eyes, occasionally; he obviously wasn't reading the book at all, still too distracted and high-strung for it- but he still did not leave.

He'd never laughed at him even once. He'd never gotten mad at him even once.

And instead of moving on to practice by himself, the whole reason he was out here to begin with... he was sitting down here on the ground with him.

_Of course, we._

Emotion gathered so tight in Roy's throat that it hurt to breathe.

Then, without a single word, because they were all beyond him, he threw his arms around Maes, and squeezed him as tight as he could.

 _Just in case,_ he told himself, underneath Maes' startled squeak and stiffening beside him. _Just in case he decides he hates me and I never see him again. Just in case._

_Just in case._

Then, the moment was over, and he pulled his arms back to himself, and stared down into his textbook to not dare let himself look up again.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments/kudos!
> 
> Oops... forgot to edit the formatting. Is fixed now!

"Roy?"

Roy carefully squirmed himself to be more balanced, still slightly nervous as he clutched and weighed the ball in his hands. "Yeah?" he called back, then tossed the ball across again to Maes.

The Hufflepuff had to swerve a bit to catch it, but he caught it, nonetheless, and Roy would've winced and given a sheepish apology if Maes hadn't chucked his bag at him last time he'd tried. "I've got an idea!"

"Oh?" Roy fidgeted again, trying to fight back the discontent from his face. He didn't _hate_ this any more, but he at least still really didn't like it... "That's troubling, since your ideas usually don't end that happy for me."

"Shut up, yes they do, sometimes it just takes a while for them to work. Anyway, don't you trust me?"

Roy smirked a little, choosing not to answer that question, because that was a mess of an answer that Maes probably didn't actually want to hear, and flew over the catch the ball again.

This was Maes' plan, 2.0, to teach Roy how to fly:

Hover there a few inches above the field, playing catch with a Quaffle. 

It was...

Well, Roy still wasn't sure what to think of it.

But he was in the air, learning how to swerve back and forth, and none of his many falls had resulted in anything more than a scrape or two on his hands, so he figured that was enough for him to declare plan 2.0 a success. Albeit a tentative one, because he still hadn't been able to fly in class- but a success all the same.

Even if he still would've been happier never having to fly ever again.

Maes had to tumble over again to grab the Quaffle when Roy tossed it back to him- honestly, Roy wasn't _trying_ to throw it badly, he'd just never played catch _in the air before-_ but the Hufflepuff straightened right up again, tugged a hand through his disheveled hair, and beamed. "I was thinking, you want to head back to the castle early tonight? Everyone's talking about the Hallowe'en Feast and the older students say it's supposed to be bloody amazing. Decorations, candy- someone even said Hohenheim got a ghost band to come! I mean, I don't really know how ghosts could be in a band, but... what do you say, Roy?" He tossed the Quaffle over again, again so vigorously it took what Roy felt to be a medal-worth feat of athleticism that he even caught it at all.

Meanwhile, Maes was also looking at him, so eager and excited and just _hopeful,_ Roy felt like he'd be kicking an innocent puppy to tell him no.

His stomach squirmed at the reminder of how his last feast had went, and the weak facade of a smile he found himself so often wearing around Maes nearly slipped away.

"You can go," he returned easily, blinking past Maes rather than at him. "I don't really like candy, though, so I think I may sit this one out."

"What are you talking about; I've split candy with you all the time! You love it, Roy!"

What- _dang it,_ that boy was good. Roy nearly sulked; probably would've, if that wouldn't have meant tumbling off his broom or letting the Quaffle hit him in the face. Why did Maes remember that? He'd only seen him eat candy once or twice in the first place.

"...I don't really eat in the Great Hall that much," he admitted, a sullen, sulky grumble. A half-truth at best, and about as much as he could bring himself to give. "Like I said, you should go if you want to, but I won't." He tossed the Quaffle back to him, his precarious position jostled a little by the force of the throw, and for a moment almost wished it had made him fall, to distract Maes and bring an end to this conversation entirely.

He wasn't going.

But he didn't fall, and the Hufflepuff just easily caught the throw, and he kept on watching him with that mischievous grin of his, that look Roy was slowly learning meant he was thinking of something, but not something to hurt him with. He hovered there for a few moments, gently passing the ball between his two hands, just watching him...

And then, he beamed even brighter, in what Roy had learned meant his plans-for-Roy had come to completion, and kicked off to fly straight across the space between them and land next to him. "I've got an idea!" he announced, and it was all Roy could do not to groan.

" _Again?"_

"That's right, _again._ Shut up, you love my plans." Maes set about putting the Quidditch balls back away, evidently done with playing catch for now, and Roy was left to land himself, pretty much clueless as to what was going on. "Although you don't get to know this one just yet. It's a secret."

"Oh...?"

"That's right, a secret!" Maes straightened up again to clasp him by the shoulders, eyes beaming bright with enthusiasm and smile even bigger than before. "You'll find out soon. But, for now. The feast is soon enough, right? If we leave now, we'll only be a little early-"

"Maes, I don't-"

"So we can walk back now. I have some stuff I need to take care of, and you- I guess you can drop your things off at your common room, or... whatever, it doesn't really matter, but when just wait for me outside the Great Hall, okay? I'll meet up with you whenever I finish getting things ready."

"I told you, Maes, I really-"

"You have to, all right? Because-" And then Maes was tugging his scarf down around Roy's neck again, so fast and firm Roy was nearly knocked off balance, his hair mussed, the fuzz getting in his face but even as he blinked and spluttered, Maes stayed right there. "There! You have to, so you can give this back to me! And I promise, you'll love it, but you have to actually _show up,_ because otherwise you won't love anything, and I'll be really sad, and also you'll kinda be stealing my scarf. Okay?"

Roy blinked hard again, the staticy fuzz from the scarf still dancing in his face, and now he was choking, just a little, because Maes had really tugged it too tight. "I-..."

Well, quite frankly, he'd be much happier staying out here just like every other night, and the thought of venturing into the Great Hall of a feast was stomach wrenching. But Maes was staring at him like an over-eager puppy, so hopeful and happy Roy felt like saying no would make him lower than dirt, and...

Roy swallowed hard, forced a tiny, struggling smile, and nodded.

Maes hadn't let him down yet.

"You're crazy," he returned, voice small in his throat- and was rewarded yet again with another grin.

"And you're a jerk," Maes said, shouldering his bag and heaving up his broomstick. "Trust me, Roy!"

* * *

 _"Trust me, Roy. Trust me, Roy. Trust me, Roy..._ meh. _Meh."_ All alone in the clutter of his dormitory, Roy continued grumbling to himself, stashing his winter cloak and books and even letting himself stomp a little, just to wear the frustration out. "Can't leave well enough alone. _Trust me, Roy..._ I trusted Kimbley and look where that got me. Stupid, _stupid_ Maes."

What was so hard for him to get about _no?_ No, he didn't want to go to the Great Hall, no, he didn't want to go to the feast, no, he didn't want to do anything more than close his eyes and wake up tomorrow morning when this was all over. But he couldn't do that, because he'd stumbled into an agreement, and if he reneged on his promise Maes would never speak to him again.

Also, he still had his scarf, and if Maes never spoke to him again, it would be pretty difficult for him to return it.

Roy sighed, coming to a trembling halt at the head of his bed. He leaned over on his hands and shut his eyes, forcing himself to still, to breathe, to think.

It was just one night. That was _all._

Whatever Maes was planning, he could get through one night.

A few minutes later, his stomach knotted sickly into nerves and stress, Roy standing dressed in his most shabby set of robes in case he 'accidentally' ended up with juice or water or gravy splashed on him again, and Maes' warm scarf still draped around his neck, he found himself with no further procrastinating or distractions left.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. He sent his gaze around the deserted, dark shadows of his dormitory, alone, for once... _safe_ , for once... and wondered, yet again, just why he was going to leave it.

He glared sullenly again.

Then, heart forcing its way into his throat, Roy turned away from his bed, and instead went towards Kimbley's.

"Hey, Snowbell," he whispered, crouching just so he could reach the curled white lump hiding under the bed, busy making a nest in what he thought was a winter cloak that he vaguely recognized as Scar's. It always took the cat a few seconds to recognize him, but once he had he was eager to lift his head, worming just close enough to lick his fingers, and Roy smiled. "How's it going, buddy?"

There was a scratch near his mouth, this time. Or perhaps a burn. He wasn't sure, but almost instantly was reminded of the fire spell that Flitwick had told them they were going to start learning soon in Charms. His stomach turned, and for a moment, just a moment, Roy saw red.

"I'm... I'm gonna bring you a treat tonight, okay? There you go... you like that, don't you?" The cat continued licking, a purr deep in his throat, and Roy had to smile. "Tonight's Hallowe'en, so... oh, I guess you can't eat candy, huh? Well, that's okay... it's a feast, so I'm sure there'll be something you'll like. I promise, it'll be better than the bread I usually bring you." He turned his hand over a little, ginger brushing against the side of the cat's face, careful to avoid whatever it was that Kimbley had done to him last. "Maes is pretty crazy, but if you ever meet him, make sure to thank him for this."

Snowbell mewed quietly again. He rubbed his face against his hand, almost like a baby seeking comfort, and gave his fingers another lick.

Roy forced another weak smile, taking as much comfort and stability from the gesture as he could, and pushed himself up to his feet.

No matter what happened from here on out, he could at least get a treat for Snowbell.

If this went badly, then at least he still had that, to get him through the rest of the night 

* * *

Roy had been dreading having to wait for Maes.

Standing awkwardly near the entrance to Great Hall, trying to make himself as small as possible as crowds passed him by, whispers and gossiping floating around him if he was lucky, a jinx or two and an elbow to the stomach if he wasn't. Blood-traitor, freak, Squib. Kimbley. Just- seeing Kimbley in general. Kimbley _existing_ in general.

So when Roy hesitantly inched his way around the final corner, wrapping his arms back around himself and hunching his way to try and disappear right into the ground- to find _Maes_ already right there, waiting by the doors to the Great Hall, and craning about on his tip toes to scan the crowd so much he might well have nearly broken his neck?

Well, to say he was relieved was a gigantic understatement.

"M- Maes?" he stammered, amazement and disbelief unfolding in his chest to leave him lightheaded, high, almost floating as he stumbled along. "Maes, are you-"

"Roy! _Roy!_ I knew you'd come!"

Maes shot towards him like a spell out of the end of a wand; perhaps a Cheering Charm, by the warmth that effused through his heart at the sight of him, and then Maes was right there, grabbing for his hand and tugging on his scarf in the same breath. "I knew it, I knew it!"

Roy, now being manhandled and patted and tugged along, found himself laughing a little numbly, more surprised than anything else. "I... I thought I was going to wait for you," he mumbled, blinking in the face of the Hufflepuff's blatant eagerness. It was lucky he hadn't tripped over his own feet already.

"Yeah, you _were,_ but then I worried that if I kept you waiting too long you'd try to leave, and then I'd never find you." Maes grabbed his hand tighter, and Roy found himself being pulled along, straight out of the crowd and- away from the Great Hall? "I knew you'd show up, I just had to keep you here when you did... and look at that! I was right!"

"I..." Roy grimaced darkly to himself, the words falling into silence. Maes _was_ right, even if he didn't want to admit it. If Maes had kept him waiting too long, he probably really would've left. But now it was too late to leave, because Maes was already with him, pulling him along outside the Great Hall so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. Now somewhat overwhelmed, Roy found himself just silently stumbling along behind him, allowing himself to be led off and without a single clue as to what was going on.

"Oh, I forgot... here," he said, quickly tugging Maes' scarf off from around his neck. "Here you go."

"What- oh! I forgot about this entirely, Roy, thanks!"

"You- _forgot?_ " Roy stared at him in near bewilderment, shaking his head. This boy was going to drive him crazy one day. "After the big deal you made about it and everything..."

Maes laughed warmly as he accepted it back, dropping the thing haphazardly around his neck without barely an attempt to right it. "I mean, you're getting more use out of it than I am these days, anyway. Anyway, Roy, we're here!"

"We're- what?" He turned, startled, only to find himself even more confused than before. Maes had led him way from the crowds far enough that there was almost nobody else in sight, and the few students that were were obviously stragglers hurrying on to the Great Hall. Instead they now stood off in a corridor Roy wasn't sure he'd ever even been before, right outside a classroom he was nearly positive he'd never used. _This_ was Maes' big surprise? "What's here?" He searched around again at the empty corridor with squinted eyes, utterly lost, and the Hufflepuff's boldness really wasn't helping. Why had Maes brought him all the way over here- and why was he so _happy_ about it?

"My surprise!" Maes pulled to turn away, withdrawing gleefully towards the classroom- but as he turned his green eyes fell onto him again, and then, something just washed over his face like a cold bucket of water. A sense of nervousness lit in his eyes, and for the very first time, his smile started to fall. His so commonly over-eager, blazingly confident smile slipped away, as if the sight of Roy just standing there, hand trapped in his, and probably visibly reluctant had given him second thoughts, and now those second thoughts were escalating into genuine worry.

Which meant there was actually something for him to be worried _about._

Roy's own stomach clenched, and an abrupt band of suspicion tightened so harshly around his heart, it hurt.

Maes tilted his head a little, still wavering and obviously unsure. "Look," he started at last, genuine, sincere, but- _worried._ Why was he worried. "I know you... don't really like people, but they're nice, okay? They're really, really nice, and they'll be nice to you if you let them. You've just got to give them a chance, Roy."

Roy, standing there confused, lost, and just a bit overwhelmed, froze.

His hesitant hope crumbled straight into paralyzing fear.

There were... other people?

Maes had gathered _other people_ for this?

Roy's gaze was dragged back to the shut door, this time with an ever increasing sense of dread, and behind it he pictured Kimbley. He saw Lucius and Arcturus. He saw them all standing there waiting for him and when Maes opened the door he was going to walk over to stand with them and smile at him like he always had and ask him what was the matter. Then they were all going to laugh at him and ask why he'd been so stupid, how _anyone_ could be that brainless, and then Maes was going to laugh _again_ and he had nowhere to run-

"Just give them _one chance,_ Roy, you've _gotta,"_ he said again, and now there was a hand on his shoulder, like Maes anticipated him wanting to bolt and was trying to stop it, then, without another word, the Hufflepuff brought them both forward, and opened the door.

Inside, indeed, was an unused classroom. Big and full of desks and chairs but empty of any professors or a class at all, only filled with- there they were. Just like Maes had said. People. _People._ His heart lurched and his feet instantly tried to scramble back, but Maes' hand was on his shoulder prodding him forwards, and...

And it wasn't a trick?

Kimbley was nowhere in sight. In fact, no one in the small group was even a Slytherin at all. He recognized a few, and panic started to squeeze his heart again, breaths just starting to constrict before he blinked and realized he recognized them from class, because they weren't Slytherins, they were _Gryffindors_. There were Gryffindors, and then a Ravenclaw, and then a Hufflepuff, like Maes, and they were all grouped around one of the tables, eating when they'd stepped inside but all looking up at them now- and none were glaring at him.

"Hey, guys, hey- sorry I'm late!" Maes exclaimed, his hand still tight and warm around Roy's frozen, clammy one, tugging him further into the room. "This is the guy I've been telling you about!"

The door slammed shut behind them, and Roy jumped, but he was the only one to, and was already pulling him forward again, arranging him in front of the group who was now busy staring at them both, all eyes on him. Roy might've flinched away and hidden behind Maes, pride or no, if he'd had the strength to move at all.

And the entire group of five continued to just stare up at him, saying nothing, and watching him in a way that made him feel no bigger than two inches tall.

"You're- you're Roy," one spluttered at last. A Gryffindor, he realized numbly, and his feet tried to drag him backwards yet again. A lanky, taller, blond boy who could slam him to the ground and keep him there if he wanted. "You're the one everyone talks a-"

 _"Jean Havoc."_ It was the girl, this time, the lone girl, another Gryffindor, another blonde, and despite being about half the other boy's size, she swiveled on him with eyes that flashed like solid ice, voice biting like a whip so sharp the other boy was cowed by her words alone. "You will _be nice,_ or I will _make you_ be nice." Then she turned back around to look up at him and she flipped like a switch, eyes no longer flashing but instead warm like a summer day, frown no longer dangerous because it was instead a smile, small and slight but steady and sure. "Hi," she told him, raising a hand up in a tiny, little wave. "I'm Riza. It's nice to meet you... Maes has told us a lot about you."

This time, it was one Ravenclaw who spoke up, sitting on Jean's other side and already busy polishing off his own plate which looked stolen right from the Great Hall. "Never shuts up about you, is more like it. Only good things, though." He raised a hand of his own, a wave which turned into a beckoning for him to sit down. "I'm Heymans. Nice to meet you- now hurry up and get over here before the food starts getting cold."

"We got all the candy we could, just like you said, Maes! As much as we could carry!"

"Well, not that much... Riza and Vato wouldn't help-"

"We had to carry the chicken and the potatoes. Otherwise we'd have dinner with nothing but candy."

"That's- _yeah_ , that was the _idea-"_

"Dinner with nothing but candy? What, were you all raised in a barn?"

"Apparently so, because I actually had a happy childhood! With _chocolate!"_

"You'd all have felt sick all day tomorrow and we'd have to deal with you moaning about it!"

"A worthy sacrifice!"

The whole group laughed again with, warm and loud and _with each other,_ not at him, because their attention wasn't even on him, anymore. There was a space waiting for both him and Maes to sit, but with introductions- sort of- made, the rest of the group had already moved on. All the attentions and expectations had left him as the group just talked and bickered over a mass of mostly candy; magnificent stacks of chocolate, platters of dripping, sticky sweetness, a statue of Roy didn't even know what but it sure wasn't healthy- and, yes, one plate of roast chicken that he imagined Riza had forced them all to at least take a share of. A sliver or two would do quite well for Snowbell, and it was only when he thought about what he might feed the cat that he realized just how hungry _he_ was- and how much his mouth was now watering.

This time, when Maes tugged him forward, he didn't try to resist.

Because this time, for the very first time- he actually wanted to go. 

* * *

Introductions finally trickled in, spilling out as candy was passed around and stories were passed along with it. Riza Hawkeye, Gryffindor. The one girl and yet she seemed to be the strongest of them all, corralling them in with words alone yet whenever she turned for Roy to hesitantly meet her eyes, she met his right back with a warm, welcoming smile.

Jean Havoc, Gryffindor again. A big, rowdy boy but who was so easygoing and casual he reminded him of Maes, and who'd taken a little bit to get used to but already treated Roy like he was as much a member of this group as the rest of them. Roy vaguely recognized him as the boy who tended to cause explosions in Potions and just hadn't been able to stop a little laugh when he'd realized- and then, when all eyes had turned on him, and with a tiny, failing voice and his heart shriveled like a lump of coal, he'd been forced to explain... Jean had been the one to laugh the loudest.

Heymans Breda, the Ravenclaw, and seeming to be Jean's best friend. He and Jean were constantly bickering, Jean slapping at his hands when he tried to reach for more while Heymans always seem to have some new way to embarrass him just waiting and at the ready. It had reminded him of Kimbley for just a heartbeat, and he'd wanted to pull away, but- Jean actually seemed to _enjoy_ the back and forth. They all, so plainly obvious it was striking, _enjoyed this._

Then there was Vato Falman on Heymans' other side, the last Gryffindor of the bunch. Roy hadn't quite figured him out, yet. He couldn't quite remember the boy ever speaking up in class, and through the whole dinner, he only spoke up to quote Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration at Heymans and Jean, whenever they complained about there not being enough food and why couldn't they just magic some up. Despite it all, he still seemed to be enjoying himself- even, Roy noticed, allowing himself a faint, restrained smile, whenever his quiet, textbook definition made Heymans thunk his head down on the table and Jean throw his arms and moans skyward.

Last was little Kain Fuery, next to Roy, and the only Hufflepuff other than Maes. He was even quieter than Vato; in fact, Roy wondered if he might've been somewhat shy- but whenever the group broke off into conversation, the first-year had not hesitated to turn to him, and try and pull him into it. His voice had been small, sometimes so small Roy hadn't even been able to hear what was being asked, but he'd been _trying-_ and that was, quite honestly more than anyone had ever given him this entire school year.

This entire dinner was more than anyone had given him this entire school year.

"We met when we were kids," Jean explained to him at one point, one hand thumping Heymans on the back, the other searching hungrily for another bit of chocolate. "Our parents worked together at the Ministry and went to school together, so we kinda just grew up together."

"That's how we all became friends, actually," Heymans added, then scowled when Jean's searching took him onto his plate, smacking at his hand like he might a spider. "I met Maes and Kain in my classes, and Jean met Riza and Vato. We all started just hanging out, and... I guess the rest is history."

The others laughed again; Roy was almost he heard someone mutter an _unfortunately_ in there, and at that, he had to laugh, as well.

"Or _was_ history," Maes added on suddenly, and Roy gasped at the abrupt slap on his back, a gasp that turned into a bright flush when all eyes were right back to him. "Then I met this sullen snake over here, and we now we're adding one more!"

Again, there was laughter. Again, it was _with_ him, not at him.

Again, Roy sat there, stunned- and, after several moments, so _warm,_ inside and out, he could barely speak.

Adding one more...

"Sullen... s-sullen snake?" he stammered at last, blinking and shellshocked.

Maes nodded cheerfully next to him, and this time, the hand against his back turned into an arm around his shoulder that pulled him in for a rough almost-hug that quite nearly choked the life out of him. "You're a Slytherin," he said, like that explained everything in the world, "and you never talk to, like, _anyone."_

"Sullen snake!" Jean added on, as if he'd needed the clarification.

"I..." Roy's face warmed again, and he found himself wanting to slink back; worm out from under Maes' arm, under the table, perhaps, just _away_ from all those staring eyes. _I'm not sullen_ , he wanted to say, but the words that his silence was for his own safety, and hardly his own choice, caught in his throat and turned too bitter to speak.

Something of his disquiet must have shown on his face, though, because Maes was ruffling his hair, next- and then stuffing his face with the shredded remains of chocolate that were left on his plate. "Aw, come on, Roy, cheer up- it's okay. Everyone here calls _me_ a cuddly badger!"

"Well, that's-" Roy blinked, turning the name over in his head, then winced. _Cuddly badger._ Well, he'd take sullen snake over _that._ "That's... mmph," he grunted, which was about as positive a compliment as he could give to that one, and this time, when there was another round of laughter, Roy found himself able to laugh with it.

At this point, there was pretty much nothing left of dinner but some crumbs- and scraps of chicken, hidden securely in Roy's pocket. Roy squirmed a little in his seat, not quite sure where to go from here, and even more unsure of his place here than he was of anything else. The brief quiet may have been comfortable for the rest of the group, but he was far too new here, far too much a stranger, far too nervous- _still-_ to be able to bear it long, and soon, he found himself powerless but to speak up again.

"Hey, um... I know it's getting kind of late, but- Maes mentioned something about a ghost band, and if- if you all wanted to go, there's probably still time. You can go, I... I won't... mind, if-"

"Ghosts?!" Heymans interrupted, slamming a fist down on the table so sudden and loud Roy flinched back again, but the Ravenclaw was already continuing on. "I _hate_ ghosts. Hate them!"

"I just-"

"My dad works in the Ministry's Spirit Division, he does stuff with ghosts- and they're _always_ following him home! I hate ghosts! I hoped coming here I'd be able to get _away_ from them for once- then the headmaster brings in a whole pack of them to haunt us?" He shook his head violently, all but growling even as Jean poked at his arm, obviously making fun, and Roy was left to just wilt back into the silence.

Riza cleared her throat after several moments, pushing back just a little in her seat. "Regardless, Roy is right. It's getting late. If we want to get back before curfew we should probably all start cleaning up."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the room, but before anyone could even start to move any of the dishes about, Maes was waving about, flapping a bit like an overeager bird with all the energy of a hyperactive baby. "No, no, it's fine, no- you guys set all this up, I can put it away! I'll take them back to the kitchens, it's fine. You guys can go on, I'll clean up."

Roy frowned at Maes himself, folding his arms closer to his aching stomach. "In that case, I'll help you clean up, too."

"What?" Maes shifted around to stare at him, now, shaking his head hard, already grabbing for Roy's plate as if to try and stop him from cleaning it up himself. "No, you don't have t-"

"You said you were cleaning up because they set it up. Well, I didn't set it up, so I should help clean up, too."

"But- but, Roy..."

"Oh, let him do it, already," Jean sighed, pushing up to his feet. "You're not making him do it- he _offered,_ even."

There was a chorus of agreement again, one that Roy didn't really fully understand, but was grateful for, and with five other people settled firmly on his side, it seemed not even stubborn Maes Hughes could argue more. The Huffepuff gave in almost immediately, throwing up his hands with almost a sheepish smile, and with Maes offering up his surrender, that seemed to be the cue, at last, for everyone else to start to leave as well.

There were fond goodbyes, and claps on the shoulder, more than one _see you tomorrow-_ and, bewilderingly, many of these were directed at Roy. He was too overwhelmed and, admittedly, jumpy, to even know how to respond, but they said it to him anyway, and they smiled even when Roy found himself helpless but to just be mute and silent in response.

They wanted to see him tomorrow.

Something warm expanded desperately through his chest again, and as Roy stood there, watching as the group filed, one by one, out the door, he found himself struck with such a strong wave of sheer _emotion_ he almost wanted to cry.

He couldn't. Wouldn't let himself. Not with Maes still here with him. Not when Maes had done all of this, and just for him. He was _not_ a baby and he was _not_ going to cry.

_See you tomorrow..._

He swallowed hard again, hugging himself tightly, and with another breath as deep as he could fight it, forced back the peculiar anguish tightening in his throat and kept himself calm.

He was _not_ going to ruin the first good thing that had happened to him at this school.

"Roy, are you sure...? You really don't have to- I know you didn't ask for any of this, you don't have to clean up, it's-"

Roy coughed, forcing away the lump in his throat as he swiveled back around to face Maes, shaking his head as hard as he could. "Shut up, Maes," he ordered, and then, without allowing any sliver of a room for argument, balanced two plates back in his arms to make his point.

The Hufflepuff watched him uncertainly again, his eyes clouded and his mouth pulling into a frown for several seconds. But when Roy calmly went for another plate and gave him the steadiest smile that he could, that seemed to somehow be enough to convince him, because Maes' smile was back as well.

That was good, Roy reflected weakly, with another squeeze of relieved, exhausted warmth in his chest. He liked it best when Maes smiled.

"Sorry," Maes said after a couple of seconds, flushing a little as pushed at his hair again. "I just... I really wanted tonight to be perfect, and I- I guess my picture of it didn't include you having to clean up." He hesitated, lingering still along the edge of the table, eyes fading into a quiet sort of worry. "I know you were a little reluctant about this... was it okay? I know it could've been better, we really cobbled everything together last minute- if you didn't like it that's fine, you don't have to do it again, but I- just- wanted-"

 _"Maes,_ " Roy groaned, shaking his head. If his hands hadn't been otherwise occupied, he might've smacked a hand to his face with it. Instead, he was helpless but to just stare at him, eyes wide as he shook his head at him, for a moment so stricken he couldn't speak at all.

Maes was really having to _ask_ him if it was okay?

Maes was worried, after rushing to put together _all of this_ when they all could've very well told him to piss off and eaten in the Great Hall together and probably had a lot more fun while doing so- and Maes was still worried because that it hadn't been enough?

"... _Maes,"_ was all he said again, and this time, he rolled his eyes on top of it all. "You're crazy. And an idiot." Then he went back to stacking plates.

Maes made a small, startled sort of noise behind him, and for several moments, there was nothing more than that. Then, with a sarcastic groan, the Hufflepuff had returned to his side, muttering, "Why does everyone keep _saying that..."_ under his breath, but it was obvious it was a joke, and when Roy laughed, it made Maes laugh, too.

They lapsed into quiet for several minutes, just doing their best to scrub away all the crumbs and sticky stains of chocolate before they'd cleared away all the dishes to carry them down to the kitchens. Roy, for his part, was honestly quite content with the quiet, and would've been all right with it lasting all the way up until they would've had to say good night.

But as the stillness and peace lasted, and Roy was let to finally come down from the obscure, anxious place he'd been caught in all night... a niggling sense of unease came to him instead.

"...Maes?"

"Yeah, Roy?"

"...what you... said, earlier." Roy hesitated, eyes resting nervously down on his feet again, this time because he just couldn't manage to pull them back up. He never seemed to actually be to look anyone in the eyes, anymore."When we were coming in, and you said that I-. I. ...you knew that I... didn't really like... _people."_ Something miserable burned in the back of his throat, and for several moments, he couldn't even find his voice to go on.

"...do you really think that, Maes?"

There was short, uncomfortable silence.

The longer the quiet stretched on, the worse and worse Roy felt, and he very quickly regretted asking the question at all.

Then, with something approaching a tiny, apologetic moan, the Hufflepuff thumped down to sit heavily back at the table, and the aura of regret was abruptly so thick Roy could almost taste it. "Not... now," he mumbled, and Roy's heart just shrunk then and there and sunk straight down into the pit of his stomach.

"So, you did, then."

Maes had thought it.

That was what people really thought of him.

"...yeah." Maes made another small, apologetic sound, but Roy still could not look at him. "I... I just thought... I never really see you in the Great Hall. I asked Riza, and she said you don't really talk to anyone in class. And I remembered how you looked, when we first met out on the Quidditch pitch... you looked so- I don't know... just _freaked out_ to see someone... and you sit out there all day by yourself... I figured you just liked being alone."

"Then why'd you do all of this?" Roy shrunk back another step, wrapping his arms around himself and is his voice was small, just barely able to hide the sliver of hurt behind it, then- then just too bad for him. "Why'd you bring me to meet all your friends if you thought I'd hate it?"

"Honestly?" Maes' smile wavered again, threatening to turn almost sad, and he sunk down to lean his head against his arm, handful of plates hitting the table with a platter. "I worried if I went back early and let you walk back alone tomorrow I'd find out you'd frozen to death or tripped and hit your head and it'd be all my fault. Also you never seem to eat anything and I know you like candy so I hoped you'd like this." He looked up at him again, hesitant, almost fearful, clearly wary of the reaction his words were going to get and feeling terrible that he had to say them at all. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to- to offend you, I just wanted you to have fun tonight, I- don't let me ruin this for you, please..."

Roy shut his eyes in the face of Maes' babbling, taking in a deep breath in an attempt at calming himself. After the overwhelming rush of everything that had happened tonight, he didn't think he really had it in him to convince Maes that it really was all right. But it _was_ all right. Or, at least, he was going to make it be.

He supposed he couldn't really be all that upset with Maes, for thinking that. Not if he didn't want to stomp all over everything that Maes and his friends had done for him tonight.

"I did have fun tonight," he said quietly, stifling yet another attempt of Maes' at an apology before it got off the ground. "I... had a lot of fun. And you didn't ruin it, Maes. So, just... just, stop thinking that you did. I had fun. Thank you."

That said, he then picked up the stack of plates that the Hufflepuff had set down to add them to his own armful, and continued on working in silence. This time, with his back turned, to hide his own embarrassed flush and the red heat he could already feel warming his face.

After a brief pause, there was shuffling behind him, and he heard Maes get back up, and return to helping him clean up. When Roy finally brought himself to glance over his shoulder, though, it was to see the other boy now smiling so big it was as if he'd just gone and broken a world-record for happiness, and for the first time, Roy actually knew he'd managed something right.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!!!
> 
> Well, at this point, I have run out of pre-written chapters to post. I'll try to keep up with my schedule still, b-but... we'll s-see...
> 
> Happy reading!

When Riza finally found her way down to the hospital wing, late in the afternoon, and shivering in the cold of the November air, she still wasn't all too confident about her place here.

But, she had come down all this way, and the one thing she _was_ sure of, was that she hadn't come down all this way for nothing.

So she hugged the papers even tighter to her chest, steeled herself as best as she could, and pushed her way straight inside the door.

Her inner relief and sense of something approaching victory when her eyes landed right on to Roy were so strong, she nearly whooped with triumph for being proven right, right then and there.

In fact, if it hadn't hit her in the next moment that she was standing in the hospital wing, and _being right_ meant Roy was sick or hurt and not exactly something to celebrate, she probably would've.

She'd known it. She'd _known_ she'd find him here.

Riza cleared her throat a little in the silence of the hospital wing, hugging the papers closer as she started to draw nearer towards the curled figure near the back of the room. Her new Slytherin friend was huddled up on his side, turned so his back was to her, little more than a dark head of messy hair visible over the weight of the blankets. He was so still, unresponsive even to her entering the room, that she wondered if he might have been asleep.

Then, the sound of violent vomiting carried across the room, the Slytherin spasming and gasping under the blankets, and Riza's confidence wavered.

So... not asleep, then.

She hesitated again, suddenly rethinking this whole visiting-that-quiet-boy-she-barely-knew thing, and found herself briefly wishing she could just drop his homework off without him even noticing she was there.

At least she now knew why Roy was in the hospital wing.

Riza waited for the sounds of the Slytherin being sick to fade into just heavy breathing, Roy slumping ever smaller. He was now barely more than a tiny, blanketed lump, with a smidgen of dark fluff popping out at the top half-obscured by the pillow. Finding a small smile again, Riza tugged her robes back straight, managed to hopefully arrange her features in something that approached a good bedside manner, and moved forward.

"Roy?"

The Slytherin flinched, shuddering smaller and further away at her words as one that had an intimate acquaintance with danger. Already pale as the sheets, now he'd faded even paler, so white he looked cold like the snow outside, with a nasty green hue underneath that wasn't healthy at all, eyes gone big and blinking at her almost as if he was afraid. Even when his eyes latched onto her- still, that fear was there, and did not fade.

Riza's own already flagging certainty at coming here failed a little more.

Then, Roy coughed sickly again, and out from his mouth spilled-

A slug?

A... a tiny, wiggling, slimy, very alive slug.

From his _mouth._

"...Ew," she moaned, little more than a tiny squeak, and for a moment was so faint she nearly hit the floor.

Roy's tired eyes flickered up towards her, and he offered a minuscule, half-hearted smile. "Tell me about it," he rasped, and with a shivering hand, pushed the slug over the side of the bed. It sailed down to drop into a waiting bucket on the floor, pushed up just under his bed, into which it fell and disappeared with a big, wet _plop_.

Riza really, really, _really_ did not want to see what else was in there.

"It's a hex," the Slytherin mumbled, voice still a sleepy sort of rasp that it seemed to be hard for him to make understandable at all. "Or charm, maybe. I don't know. It makes you throw up slugs."

Riza shuddered again, this time almost queasy herself. Throw up... _slugs._ " _Ew,"_ she whispered once more, and this time Roy somehow managed to chuckle a little back before he just slumped back down, lifeless and limp lack a sack of potatoes.

She carefully inched her way closer to a nearby chair, pulling it closer while trying to avoid anywhere remotely near Roy's mouth or that bucket at the same time. When it was at last close enough she sank into it gratefully, hugging both her things and the papers on her lap, trying to look not quite as grossed out as she was. While she moved around, thought, the Slytherin was fumbling one-handedly over towards the bedside table, groping around for a slice of the collection of chocolate sitting there waiting for him, and when she realized his destination, Riza winced. "You so sure candy is the best idea right now...?"

"Huh?" Roy blinked at her, then sagged down with clarity, taking a vanishingly small bite, so tiny it was little more than crumbs. "No. It's treacle fudge. Madam Pomfrey made me eat it. It's supposed to stop the slugs from... hatching? I don't know... it's supposed to help, at least." He hesitated, dark, damp eyes flickering onto her for just barely a heartbeat before sliding on, as if afraid of what she might be thinking and not wanting to see if for himself. "I guess I feel better than this morning. I'm pretty sure I've thrown up all the fudge I've eaten, though."

Riza, shivering again and now _definitely_ queasy, there was no doubt about it, made herself swallow her third _ew_ of the day.

She doubted, after all, it would make him feel all that much better.

"I'm... sorry," she mumbled, staring down to her knees instead. She felt suddenly small and ineffectual, like she didn't quite belong, but leaving felt just so much worse than staying. "That's- awful. Who would use a spell like that on you? Who would- would _want_ to do this to someone else?"

Roy barely even looked at her, on that one. He still looked vaguely green and utterly worn out, limper than a wet rag and so very tired her heart ached, but it was clear that whether she was there or not, he wasn't going to be sleeping. "Dunno," he rasped, small shoulders constricting in a tiny shrug. "Some older Slytherin. Fourth or fifth year, maybe. I accidentally stepped on the back of his shoes and he... got mad." His face white and his eyes heavy, he pressed deeper into his pillow, gaze scattering away from her as he seemed to curl up a little tighter, like if he got small enough he'd be able to disappear. "How'd you know I was here?" he asked after a few moments, still not looking at her. "Did Professor Slughorn say something?"

"I... no." Riza looked away again, feeling uncomfortable, somehow, at seeing the usually silent, withdrawn boy like this. Like it was something very private, and being able to see him like this was a right reserved for friends a few levels closer than they had yet found themselves. "I realized you weren't in class this morning, then still weren't there this afternoon, but Flitwick and Sprout didn't mention it. Binns still called your name, but... he still calls the names of students from last century." She smiled a little, and when Roy managed a weak smile back was so gratified and relieved she had to restrain another little cry of victory again. "Jean got the Mumblemumps near the start of term and as long as he was here for, none of the professors ever called his name in class. I knew it was a long shot, but... once I realized that I knew I had to find out for sure."

"...oh," Roy mumbled flatly. His fist wound tighter in the blankets again, and he averted his gaze even further away. The word was little more than a listless sigh of exhaustion, and once again, an awkward silence settled between them, and Riza's stomach knotted tighter with guilt.

When she couldn't take the quiet anymore, she inched her chair a tiny bit closer, leaning to try and better meet Roy's eyes while still avoiding that really disgusting bucket. "Did you tell a professor what happened? No one should hex you just because you stepped on their shoes. And you said it was an accident, anyway!"

"I told you, I don't even know who it was. There's no point." With an unbearable sort of slowness, her friend started to maneuver himself onto his back. Or, at least, he tried to. About halfway there, his face faded to an even more poisonous shade of green before, eyes watering through a glimmer of panic, and suddenly he was curled back on his side even smaller than before. "I get hexed at least once a week, anyway. This... this is the worst, but... there's no point in telling."

"You- you _what?"_

But Roy only shrugged listlessly again, just as blase and terrifyingly unconcerned as he had been this whole time. He still wasn't even bothering to meet her eyes. He looked so exhaustedly resigned... just- just half- _dead,_ laying there like that, like the soul had left his body and left him blinking half-lidded as an empty shell that looked so terrible, Riza felt more than bad enough to quiet herself into silent guilt, just let him _sleep..._

If he hadn't just mumbled he was hexed like this every week.

"...Riza?" Roy rasped again, his half-lidded, fatigued eyes flickering back onto her. She sat forward instantly, wanting to help him any way that she could, but the Slytherin just flinched again at the movement, shivering away and eyes dropping back down to the blankets. "Don't tell Maes about this," he mumbled, voice tiny. "Please."

 _"Maes?_ Roy, he'd want to know! He likes you!"

He flinched again, but this time, she wasn't sure why. A fragile smile wavered into place and he loosened his miserable fetal curl, just a little, sick and exhausted or not. "...right," he murmured, a vague, cryptic sort of whisper. "And if he found out, he'd probably go trying to curse every Slytherin upperclassman trying to find out who until someone got annoyed and just blew him up."

"Well, that's-... probably... true..."

They laughed together again, Riza as quiet and small as she could, because anything stronger felt wrong with Roy's own chuckle so soft and profoundly weak. But he _was_ right. Maes had a protective streak in him, and whether Roy knew it or not, talked as if he'd taken the smaller Slytherin under his wing. If he found out someone had so much as pushed Roy, Riza wouldn't really be surprised if he went off shouting against a whole pack of older Slytherins.

Which was pretty much a good way to get Maes right in here with Roy, and for Roy to look and feel even worse than he surely already did, and not much else.

By the sheer misery etched into every inch of Roy's pale face, Riza wasn't so sure he could take getting much worse.

After another stretch of uncertain silence, her friend coughed again, deep and guttural, and when she saw him reaching his hand towards his mouth she just shut her eyes to wait without looking. She flinched, both at the sound of him throwing up and at the wet plop of the slug hitting the bucket again, and just could not stop herself from inching her chair back again.

This was just... really, really disgusting. _Ew._ If it hadn't been for the fact that it was _Roy,_ Riza doubted she'd even still be here at all. Why did such a terrible spell even exist? Who would be so mean as to actually use it on another person?

Why was Roy so miserably _resigned_ about the fact that it had been used on him?

Her own stomach twisted again, this time with a knot of sadness instead of queasiness, and she found herself sickly unsure of what to think at all.

Roy let out a raspy chuckle again into the new, uneasy silence, the sheets rustling. "You can look, now, Riza."

Her cheeks warmed a little, but the sheepish embarrassment was nothing compared to the deeper sense of unease that was thick and cold in her from head to toe. "I'm sorry," she told him, this time looking more at his feet than to his face. She felt terrible for it, but just couldn't do it. "I... I just don't like... sick people. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, I'm not too great a fan of this myself." He smiled hesitantly to her again only to quickly turn away, seeming just as uncertain and nervous here as Riza was herself. "...if you don't like sick people, then, maybe the hospital wing wasn't the best choice for you to decide to hang out?"

Riza frowned to herself, biting her tongue to stop the rebuke that tried to rise. Snapping at Roy that just because she didn't _like it_ didn't mean she shouldn't visit a friend wouldn't have gone anywhere; at least, not when he was obviously still so sick. Because, he did, really, have somewhat of a point. "Right," she said solidly, straightening herself in her seat and for the first time all visit, at last revisiting her attention down to the bundle parchment waiting on her lap. "When I saw you weren't in class, I decided to get all your assignments for you. You don't really sit with the other Slytherins, so I wasn't sure that they would, and I just- wanted to be safe." She cast a critical eye on down the bed, searching for a safe spot, and at last just set the sheets down on near the end. Roy was small enough that he wouldn't accidentally kick them to the floor, and down here, they would be more than safe from the slime and- _ew-_ slugs.

She shuddered again.

Ew.

_Slugs._

Roy's half-lidded eyes flickered listlessly again. He gave a half-hearted glance down towards the papers, then, with a sleepy sort of sigh, brought them back straight to the drawn curtains. "Oh," he rasped flatly. "...Thanks."

Riza's eyes narrowed.

"We've got a paper due in History of Magic," she began, a little louder than before. He wasn't going to shut his eyes and ignore it; not while she was here. "One foot on the wars between the giants and the Acromantulas. It's due next class period. I tried to ask if absent students might have an extension, but I don't believe he heard me, so you should assume yours is due next class period." She shuffled the papers at the end of the bed, moving on to the next one. "Professor Sprout said next class period we're working with Devil's Snare, so we need to read the introduction in our textbooks, and if we don't, she'll know, because we won't know how to handle it and she won't help until we admit it. And, Professor Flitwick said that he wanted anyone who couldn't perform the Extinguishing Charm yet to practice it before next class; additionally, he wants us to turn in the introductory problems to the Softening Charm next class period."

There was a slow, hideously uncomfortable stretch of silence. Roy, still green, coughed and shivered badly again, so badly she would've grabbed the blanket if he hadn't for himself, pulling it up higher to bury himself into it.

"...Okay," he muttered slowly, when it became apparent that she was done lecturing him. "Thanks."

Silence spread between them again. Roy fidgeted a little under the blankets, seeming to be quite content looking anywhere but at her.

Riza's eyes narrowed even further.

She'd expected this.

And that was exactly one of the reasons that she had wanted to come here for.

"You're not going to do it, are you."

The Slytherin flinched a little, watery eyes narrowing. His arms drew tighter around himself, like a protective shield from the world, the same shield she'd noticed him wrenching up on pretty much a daily basis, even when he was just with Maes and even her, even when he was doing nothing more than just walking down the corridor. His exhausted eyes flickered down to her again, shadowed in the faintest beginnings of a glare, but Riza met his eyes right back without flinching, and was not surprised when it took only a few seconds for him to give.

"Why do you say that?" he mumbled, rolling his head back over to stare at the curtain again. Despite the question, he sounded so exhausted and resigned, dead inside and miserable outside, that it was as if he couldn't care in the slightest what her answer was.

Well, too bad for him, because she wasn't planning on backing down.

"Because you nearly never have your homework," she answered. "Even since the first day. You never turn in almost anything."

"...Mmm."

"Why not, Roy?" she pressed, pushing forwards again. "It's not as if you can't... you're reading all the time, and whenever one of us has a question you've always got the answer- but you have to do your work! You don't even try in Quidditch- our magical education is very important and if you don't try now, then it'll be that much harder later on, and you-"

Roy mumbled something. Just a soft, stumbling little groan of words, his dark eyes squeezing shut on the heels of a ragged breath.

This time, heedless for the slugs- or, perhaps, because Roy seemed done throwing up, for now- Riza pushed herself even closer, grabbing on to the edge of the bed. "What, Roy?"

"...I quit doing it," he whispered at last, "because Kimbley always destroyed it."

...

_Huh?_

"I used to try," the Slytherin said again, and now his angry eyes had flickered open again, flashing as he stared at her past damp lashes and from hollow cheeks. "He'd tear apart no matter where I hid it. Once I even tried hiding it outside the common room, I stashed it in a suit of armor, but the next morning I went back for it and all that was there was a note that said _for the Squib._ It was Kimbley. I know it. And at some point I just got too tired of doing assignments just to watch him stomp on them or put his own name on it."

The angry, harsh stumble of a cracking denial was grating, almost painful to hear. So prickly and hurt it made her heart clench, because it sounded almost as if he was about to cry- and she might've actually thought he was, if not for the blazing eyes that were now landed on her. Wet only through sickness- heated with a blaze of anger born from genuine indignation.

And Riza, sitting there in her chair, was left to stare with wide eyes, and all but speechless with disbelief.

"K... Kimbley does... _what?_ " Slowly, almost gobsmacked, she shook her head, shellshocked with the confusion of it. It took her a few seconds to even place the name at all, sifting through her mental picture of class to at last land on that quiet, habitually charming Slytherin... "Zolf Kimbley? From class?"

Roy coughed and nodded in the same breath, a short bob of his head and harsh gasp, He shut his eyes again, rubbing his sleeve across them, and Riza leaned forward, still struggling desperately to wrap her mind around. "Are... are you sure?" she pressed, scarcely able to even believe it. He was so sick and tired, anyhow, perhaps he just wasn't remembering right... "Maybe you're just... misplacing it- or-"

_"What?"_

Black eyes were suddenly open again, right on her, _again,_ still watery, but this time, burning so abruptly shocked, _livid,_ that Riza flinched back. "I- I just mean, he's... so polite in class... and- and why would someone take your homework? He-"

"He hits me," he said suddenly. A half-shout, half desperate gasp, and abruptly he was upright; green-faced, swaying, bracing himself on two trembling arms but bolt upright, staring at her with such rage and betrayal it drove the breath right out from her chest in a stricken blow to the face, his eyes still damp but now blazing raw with fury. "It used to be just every week, now sometimes it's every day. Whenever he's angry. Whenever he's tired. Whenever he's bored. He and his friends hold me down and beat me with soap so it doesn't bruise. It's not in my _stupid head;_ he sat on me and went through my things and tore up all my work right in front of my face. _Look!"_ He abruptly dived down, scrabbling for his things stashed haphazardly under the bed only to shove it right into her face, panting now and voice cracking even higher under the desperate, agonizing strain. "He spilled my ink all over it while I had to just sit there and watch! You can see it right there! I watched him- I watched _Kimbley_ do it and laugh at me the whole time- it was _him!_ I didn't mistake it, I didn't take a joke the wrong way, I'm not oversensitive or blaming the wrong person- it was _him!_ I don't care how nice he is to you in class, because he did all of this to me and it is _not_ in my _damn head!_ "

A shocked, speechless silence expanded slowly inbetween them. Roy stayed upright, panting, shuddering, trembling, ink-splattered bag shoved in between them and his eyes huge, almost wild with anguish. Riza was left, frozen for the second time in as many minutes in her chair, blinking into the ruined bag and at Roy, and with no idea what to say.

Then, without a single other word, the Slytherin dropped his bag to clunk back to the ground, and threw himself back down so roughly against the bed that it shook. "And I'm _not_ telling Slughorn," he rasped, shoving himself onto his other side, turning his back to her, "so don't even try. He loves Kimbley and he won't care. He already invited him into his stupid Slug Club, him and all my roommates. He barely even looks at me. He does not care."

There was another uncertain, horrified silence. Riza sat there, weighed down with shock and her own growing sense of dread, and for several moments, she could not speak at all.

Then, at last, something knocked free, and she could manage more than gaping in dumbstruck silence.

"You... you _haven't_ told Slughorn?"

"No," Roy snapped shortly, "and I'm not going to."

Then, he fell silent again, still turned harshly onto his other side, utterly still, detached, and cold- and this time, the quiet lasted for several minutes on, because Riza did not have the heart or will to break it.

This time, Riza thought back over the Slytherin who she had spent all this time perceiving as a strange, quiet boy, who had merely graduated to strange, quiet _friend_ when Maes had tugged him along to their Hallowe'en feast, and this time, analyzed it through the lens of what she had just learned.

A slow, sneaking sense of horrified guilt began to climb through her, digging its claws into her every step of the way, and when it had finally finished making its long, strangling journey all the way up to her throat, she could scarcely breathe at all.

Her little fists clenched tightly in her lap.

"...Roy?" she asked again at last. That her voice was steady at all was a miracle, but she knew it might not be when she finished, this time.

The Slytherin didn't even respond, this time. Still turned angrily over onto his side, huddled up there and hugging himself, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, and for a moment, Riza wondered if she deserved it.

But, whether she deserved it or not, sitting there being silent was not going to help. So instead of falling back into her chair, she pushed herself up and marched around to the other side of the bed, standing there with her hands on her hips and glaring down at him in what she hoped was enough of a sign to him that he'd best not turn back around. "We are going to do several things," she began, planting herself down firmly right in his line of sight to not allow him an escape. "And when I say we, I mean _we,_ because I'm not about to do any of it on my own."

Roy, somewhat predictably, did not seem very interested or roused by those words, strong or not. The cloak of exhaustion seemed to drape ever heavier around him, shadowing his eyes in the silence, and the aura of defeat stuck to his sallow skin grew even more potent. He would not meet her eyes.

Unfortunately for him, Riza was just getting started.

"I'm going to stay here, and we are going to work on our History of Magic essay together. You can give it to me for safe-keeping, and if we don't finish today, we can work on it again tomorrow. No one can touch it if it's with me, right?"

The Slytherin furrowed his brow, gaze still turned away as his face creased in irritation, But, after a few seconds' pause, he did, at least, tilt his head forwards in a tiny nod, and attempt a gravely clear of his throat. "It's only if I have to keep it overnight," he grumbled, low and annoyed. "Sometimes I can finish in one day and if I can find the professor, I can turn it in."

Nodding satisfactorily, because at least that was _something,_ at least that was a little willingness to try, Riza pulled up another chair to sit down on this side, pleased that she wasn't going to have to force him along even that much. "Then we can work on the paper here. I'll write it for you if you don't feel well, but you still have to help me. I'll keep it until we finish." She started flipping their books out on a nearby bed; with as much as Roy read, he probably didn't even need them, but she wanted to make her point obstinately clear that she was not going away.

She decided to keep the second part of her plan, to take Roy with her to his Head of House's desk the moment he felt well enough to do it, and have him tell Slughorn what was going on, to herself.

For now, at least.

Roy was probably going to protest and argue his way out of it, and right now, Riza at least wanted to get some headway into this essay before he got upset.

Except, even as she got the books and parchment out- her friend was still making no move to help her.

She scowled back at him.

This was _too much_ like home for it to sit right with her. So whether Roy was probably sick enough to deserve it or not, whether she was almost certainly overreacting or not, she was _not_ about to sit here and let him just ignore her on his way into a meaningless stupor.

"Roy," she said again, this time placing one of the books on his bed where he could not possibly ignore it. "I'm not doing this alone."

The Slytherin's tired, worn eyes flickered. He was even more fatigued than before, like his outburst had taken simply all that he'd had left in him to give, and now was little more than a resigned, withdrawn lump. With an agonizing slowness, he again began to turn himself over onto his back. When, after a tentative few seconds, he seemed to decide he felt steady enough to hold the position, this time, he settled one arm around his stomach and the other dropped up above his head, staring up towards the ceiling in the very picture of defeat.

"You're going to have to," he sighed at last, words small and quiet. "There's no point in me doing it."

Riza's eyes narrowed again, but impatience did not rise. She had dealt with a patient far more stubborn than him, and a few minutes of Roy Mustang being withdrawn or defeated was not going to be enough to break her. "I told you before," she instructed steadily. "I know it hasn't gone very well yet, but you can turn things around. And we'll all help you. You don't even have to tell the others everything; they'll still help! You're our friend- but you have to take this seriously, Roy. It's _your_ education; if you don't try now-"

"Haven't you even seen me in class? Haven't you heard what they say about me?"

"Roy-"

"They-... they think I'm a _Squib,"_ he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut in what was plainly embarrassment. "And I'm not, obviously, I can do _some_ magic, but... well, you've seen me." One hand thumped weakly down on the bed, half a throw of frustration, half yet another anguished gesture of defeat. "I can still barely do a simple levitation spell. I don't think I've actually managed anything in McGonagall's class in weeks. I... I even tried looking through some books in the library, finding spells to defend myself with, but... I practiced and I couldn't even do it." His mouth trembled, wavering along the lines of a broken, limp defeat, and Riza's own confidence found itself at last tempered by a sickening, damp sorrow. "I don't know what was wrong. I understood the theory fine, I was doing the motions right, but... nothing came out."

He stopped for a moment, too pale and too small to be healthy. He started to open his mouth, fidgeting like he wanted to go on, then just let his face fall with another sigh, and turned back into a defeated silence.

He didn't need to go on.

It was obvious what he meant. What he was thinking.

And Riza, now feeling incredibly small herself, found herself falling back in her seat, and not wanting to say anything at all for a long time.

Roy, still, did not move. Splayed out flat on his back, arm stretched over his head and eyes now fluttered shut, showing the hollows of his face again, the heavy, dark smudges under his eyes, the way he just... _lay there._ Like the world had already ended, and he was now waiting for it to take him with it.

Her stomach twisted with guilt again, a sneaking, poisonous guilt that wrapped itself right around her heart, and this time, she was the one to break away, and stare back down at her feet.

She couldn't believe none of them had realized what was going on until now. That Roy had had to _tell_ her, because none of them had been able to figure it out for themselves.

The pain of an apology tightened in her throat, useless words that wouldn't help Roy in the slightest, probably wouldn't even help herself, and for a while she was left to just sit there, heart shriveled up to a cold, guilty lump, unable to say anything at all.

"...Roy?" she ventured at last. She swallowed hard, trying to clear her throat, then inched her way forwards just a little more. "Can I... tell you something?"

It took him a few seconds, but, finally, he grunted again. It wasn't words, but it was clearly meant to be an invitation for her to go on; an assurance that he was listening. She still couldn't get herself to look up at him, and soon ended up hugging herself in her seat as she tried to find the words.

"You heard Professor Slughorn talking about my dad, on the first day," she said at last. Her words were small, weak, even to her own ears, but she just made herself swallow hard and forge straight on. "He's becoming one of the world authorities on magical theory. The truth is, though, he only started researching it a few years ago, when my mum died."

"...Oh."

There was a soft rustle of sheets, and just out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Slytherin starting to sit up a little, his earlier hostility all but melted away. "I'm- sorry," he said softly, and when some people said that, she felt pitied, but when Roy said it, she only heard a genuine, sincere apology. He fidgeted a little in bed, clearly unsure of what to say, but by the look on his face he felt bad enough that he had to at least say _something._ "Did she die of something... magical?"

Riza shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes fixated firmly down. She found herself wringing her hands tightly together in her lap, the strength of her fingers gripping each other anchoring her, somehow, a heavy enough weight for her to even provide a little smile to him as she went on. "Actually, no. It was a Muggle sickness. Dad said it made something go wrong in your head so you felt bad, but instead of feeling sick to your stomach like I did sometimes, you felt really, really sad, instead. I was pretty young, so... I guess, all I really remember of it was watching her try to do spells, but she couldn't make any work. The healers said they couldn't find any reason why and gave up trying to help." Hesitantly, she lifted her eyes up off her lap towards Roy, again. The Slytherin was watching her with quiet, bloodshot eyes, silent but with rapt attention, and Riza gave him a wane smile again, trying to show she didn't need anyone to comfort her. "That's what got my dad to study magical theory. Because the healers couldn't help, and he wanted to. And before I came to Hogwarts, he pulled me aside and told me that he'd found out that the reason Mum couldn't do magic was because she was so sad. That magic is a positive force, and if we're only filled with negative things, our magic starts to die."

She frowned right into his eyes this time, knowing Roy had to have realized now where this was going, but going to continue on, anyway. She was going to do this right. "So he told me if I ever got stuck at Hogwarts, and a spell wouldn't work for me, that I couldn't let myself feel frustrated or sad or believe I was stupid. We all have magic inside us, or we wouldn't be here. He told me if I got stuck I couldn't give up on myself, because that was the worst thing I could do for it."

She knew, based off the look on his face alone, that Roy knew exactly what her point was.

The small Slytherin opened and shut his mouth several times, indecision stricken in his eyes and clearly wanting to say _something,_ but stuck with what. He remained pale and withdrawn, almost vanishingly small under the seats, and for a heartbeat the shamed anguish was so painfully just _there_ in his eyes, it hurt Riza to see it.

"Riza," he croaked finally. He could barely even look at her, eyes flickering nervously down to his feet and hands shaking. "I- thank you, really. I mean that. But... it's not the-"

"No, you listen to me, Roy," she snapped, finger jerked up to point right at him.. "Because it _is_ the same. I've seen you succeed before. When people leave you alone in class you usually manage to do all right for yourself. I've seen you fly when it's just and Maes. It's just when people are bothering you that-"

But at this, Roy let out a quiet, slightly thick scoff, turning his head away to stubbornly blink at the other side of the room. "Yeah, a few feet off the ground," he mumbled. "Meanwhile you and everyone else are flying circles over the school in class while I sit on the ground."

This time, Riza glared.

_Oh, if you weren't my friend, Roy Mustang..._

"Roy," she started slowly again. She narrowed her eyes at him, staring and waiting for the weight of her eyes alone to drag his heavy gaze at last back towards her, shame that he'd morphed into self-loathing etched across his face, mouth twisted as if he just wanted this conversation to be over already. "Do you know what else I brought here to give you?"

He mutely shook his head, and Riza stood to reach back over him, shuffling through the papers until she landed on her find at last. "Professor Flitwick also handed back our exams from last week. Here's yours."

The Slytherin blinked dully, staring first at her, then to his exam, then back to her. "...thank you...?"

"You got the second highest score in the class."

The reaction was immediate. A cold stiffening, another return to his scowl, the exam abruptly clenching in his fist like she'd slapped him. "Oh," he muttered coldly, starting to turn away, but Riza would not let him.

"That's how you score on everything, isn't it? You always know the answer whenever someone asks but you just struggle with actually doing the spells, but you're not _stupid._ Or, if you think you are, that means you also have to think I am, too."

"What?! I- I never said-"

"You beat my score on that test by twenty points," she said back, taking the exam back to settle it into the stack of papers she'd brought for him. "If you can call yourself stupid, then you have to call me stupid, too. And Maes. And pretty much everyone else but Vato because he's the only one who beat your score." That said, she settled back in her seat, folding her arms to stare at him in an unwavering challenge for him to either fight back, or, at last, stand down. When he did not manage a reply for several long seconds, Riza cracked another smile. "And if I find out that you think we're all stupid, then maybe you really are an idiot after all."

For another stretch of quiet, the Slytherin did not reply. He just looked at her with those sagging, tired eyes, still heavy with the exhaustion of having been sick and throwing up all day, the even deeper fatigue at what had gone on this whole school year, still slumped bonelessly back- and for a moment, Riza even thought that that wasn't going to be enough, and she was going to have to give up and let him sleep, because she just didn't have anything else left to try.

But then, Roy raised one slim eyebrow, and his mouth tumbled into a tiny attempt at a smile. "Falman, huh?"

A warm relief wrapped around her so tight that for a moment, she could hardly think.

"That's right," she said back, her smile broadening as if Roy had just shot a bolt of lightning to it. In some ways, it almost felt as if he had. "He struggles with spellwork, too, but I think he's a genius. He reads more than you and the only exam he hasn't gotten full marks on was the one that McGonagall took off points for him being late." Spreading out her notes on the bed again, Riza handed her textbook over to Roy, then settled in as comfortably as she could, because she was planning on being here a while. "Now, find the chapter on the giants' uprising. Maybe if we work together, we can actually beat Falman's score."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos! Not the happiest with this chapter, but I think I'm just a bit worn out of being so mean to such a small innocent child... McGonagall to the rescue next chapter! (And then, Maes!)
> 
> ALSO THERE IS NOW ART!!! I'll post it up on my tumblr ranowa-fanart-dump after I upload this, so it might take a minute or two if you click on this right away, but there is now art of Roy and Snowbell! Two arts, actually!!! ENJOY THE BEAUTIFUL ARTS BECAUSE THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL 
> 
> (both arts now up!!!)

When Riza pulled Roy up to Slughorn's desk, post yet another disastrous class period of utter failures of attempts at potions making, he was so miserable he quite nearly ran away on the spot.

But if he ran away, Riza had already made it quite clear that she would chase him down, and drag him back here as many times as she had to for him to get it out. And because the better he got to know Riza Hawkeye, the more he grew just a little bit afraid of her, he believed she would do it, too.

They waited for the rest of the class to clear out so it was just the two of them, lingering uncertainly on near the back, while Slughorn remained bustling around his desk. They remained on while the others packed away their books and supplies- Riza glared so dangerously when Kimbley, Lucius, and Arcturus passed none of them even tried to shove Roy- and stayed there even past Scar getting some last-minute questions answered at his desk.

Scar, he realized with a deep, anxious twist to his stomach, did not even look at him or Riza once as he plowed by, head down and eyes stuck on the floor, and his heart sunk.

He already knew that this just wasn't going to go well.

He could feel it.

Trepidation ached through every inch of him as Riza grabbed his hand to tug him forwards. Riza grabbed his hand differently than Maes did. Maes seemed to grab it absently, often with little to no purpose at all, sometimes just to get his attention or say hi. Riza, the rare times that she reached out, at least, always only touched with purpose, an expectant, authoritative sort of aura about her the entire time- and that fit perfectly into now.

Riza Hawkeye, pulling him by the hand forwards to stand before his Head of House's desk, even when Roy's own legs had gone numb and his stomach had tied itself back into such a tight knot part of him was afraid he hadn't thrown up all of yesterday's slugs after all.

"Professor Slughorn," she said.

The Potions Master was beaming before he'd even looked up from his desk. Only at Riza. As if Roy didn't even exist, or if he did, was something so disgustingly uninteresting and nondescript he might as well have just been a lump of wood. "Oh, Riza!" he exclaimed, "always a pleasure- such good performance in class today as usual, as usual, very impressed... always can set some time aside for one of my best students. Did you have a question?"

Roy squirmed, hand in Riza's or not, and felt so abruptly just _miserable_ he wanted to melt into the floor.

He could still faintly smell the remnants of his own potion. Or, what had been a potion, before it had started giving off a bright purple smoke and nearly blown up in his face.

Roy didn't have a clue why it had done this, but Lucius had passed by his cauldron not a minute before the accident, and then spent much of the rest of class snickering across the room with Arcturus and Kimbley, so he had a pretty good idea who was responsible.

And it wasn't himself.

"Actually, sir, no, I don't have a question." Her hand tightened around his, a warm, reassuring squeeze, then tugged him even closer to her side, like she knew he wanted to melt away into the background and was not going to allow it. "Roy has something he wants to tell you, though."

The slow dimming of the enthusiasm in his eyes, the way his smile ticked downwards from genuine excitement into stiff, awkward formality, was enough to make Roy feel no bigger than two inches tall. Something awful sunk into the pit of his stomach, and for a moment, he could barely stand it.

He'd known this was a bad idea, he'd known this was a bad idea, he'd known this was a bad idea...

"Ah- yes, of course. Of course. Mr. Mustang?" He turned towards him with that same stiff smile, folding his hands together over his desk in the silent expectation for more to follow. "What is it?"

Riza tugged on his hand again, firm and silent but the demand for him to say it clear. Roy could barely keep himself on his feet, trembling on numb legs and feet that felt like jelly, his heart racing, but now Slughorn was just _looking_ at him, and Riza was pulling on his hand, everyone waiting in silence for him to say something, anything- but it was just dead silent. He could barely even open his mouth, and when he did, nothing came out. It was just quiet, because everyone was staring at him now, _waiting,_ but he had no idea what to say or how to get it out- and now he couldn't stand it at all, the silent expectation, judgment, the way Slughorn in particular was just _frowning_ at him like he already was thinking he was a waste of time-

"Kimbley took my homework," he gasped.

There was an awkward pause. Slughorn tilted his head to the side a fraction, almost like the ticking of a clock, and his smile started to slip a little more.

"I'm... sorry?"

Riza pulled even harder on his hand, giving a little frustrated whine of obvious exasperation. "Tell him everything, Roy!"

"He- he takes my homework," he stammered again, because Slughorn was still just staring at him and the words just tumbled out, the unease of being inspected like that crawling through him from head to toe. "It's why I don't have it. He takes it from me."

_"Roy..."_

The professor's gaze searched between him and Riza, eyes wide with surprise and not much else. "Are you trying to say that the reason you did not have your assignment today is because Mr. Kimbley took it?"

"I- n-no..." Shaking his head vigorously, Roy somehow found the strength to drag the words out again, forcing his second attempt out even through clenched teeth and a nervous knot in his stomach. "No, I- I didn't do it. Kimbley always takes whatever he can find, so... so I don't do it anymore."

Slughorn's eyes slowly narrowed.

This time, Roy couldn't even blame him.

Hearing the words said aloud now, himself, he wasn't sure he'd ever even heard anything more pathetic.

"...I see."

 _He doesn't believe me,_ Roy thought desperately. _He doesn't. He thinks you're lying to him._ "H-he hits me," he rasped, "he- hits me a lot-"

But at this, Slughorn's cautious skepticism slid straight into wide-eyed disbelief. "Zolf Kimbley?" he asked, voice all but dripping with amusement. "The same Zolf Kimbley who I've yet to ever see say an unkind word to anyone? Mr. Mustang, that boy wouldn't hurt a fly."

"He- _what?"_ Roy gaped up at his professor, the hand still limp in Riza's going all but numb. It was one thing for Slughorn to doubt _him,_ but- "Wouldn't- he hurts Snowbell!"

" _Who?"_

"His cat! His- well I don't know what _Kimbley_ calls him, but it's his cat, and he hurts _him,_ too!" Before he knew it he'd yanked his hand out of Riza's to gesture violently, hardly able to even keep his voice in any sort of proximity towards calm with Slughorn still sitting there so infuriatingly peaceful like this was all a game. Wouldn't hurt a _fly?!_ "He's hurt all the time, I've seen it!"

"You've seen him hurt his cat?"

"I- well-... _no,_ but-"

"Mr. Mustang," Slughorn sighed, sinking back into his chair with a breath so heavy with exasperation he might as well have smacked him with it. He steepled his fingers together again, this time gazing at him over them with a glaring sense of already well worn out impatience. "These are some very serious accusations that you are making- against a much better student than yourself- with what sounds like not a whole lot of proof. Are you quite sure about everything you've told me?" He smiled a little, but it didn't feel like a smile at all, like instead Roy was standing here begging him to listen, and he just found it to be little more than a good joke. "Perhaps you're simply envious of Mr. Kimbley."

This time, Roy wasn't the only one to stiffen.

"I'm... _what?"_

"Yes," his professor and Head of House said again, a remark so flippant it barely even qualified as careless. "After all, Mr. Kimbley is quite a naturally talented student. I can not imagine him capable of any of the things you've said. Perhaps he was joking and you took it the wrong way?" He smiled again down at him, this one a touch more sympathetic than before- as if he was nothing more than a child to be pitied. Pitied for something he was _making up._ "Have you ever tried speaking to Mr. Kimbley about this? Maybe he would be willing to help tutor you in his free time. He really is such a nice boy... comes from such fine stock, too. Like many of your classmates, in fact." He gave him another sympathetic look then, one that Roy could read underneath it and see _unlike you,_ see _better than_ _ **you,**_ and his blood boiled and his face seared flame hot, in time for him to finish with just one thing more.

"Surely," Slughorn said kindly, still with that small, pitying sort of smile, "if you look past whatever misunderstanding you had with Mr. Kimbley, you can see that."

...

Misunderstanding?

This was all, according to Slughorn... a _misunderstanding?_

Roy felt himself fall disgustingly numb and limp. For a stretch of silence too long to not be pathetic, he could not say anything at all.

Just today one of Kimbley's lapdogs had blown up his potion in his face. He'd had to do his homework yesterday curled up in the hospital wing and give it to Riza for safekeeping, because he'd known it wouldn't survive coming back to his room with him. He still had to throw away every letter he got from home. He-

Kimbley smacked him around like a piece of trash on a weekly, sometimes daily basis.

And Slughorn called it a _misunderstanding?_

Something small and crucial in his head snapped.

"Sir," Riza started slowly, her voice slow and shocked as if she didn't quite believe what she was hearing. "I don't think you're actually listening to what Roy-"

"All right, Professor. I understand."

Riza stiffened, jerking around to stare at him with her big, warm eyes, but Roy's focus was only for his Head of House, sitting there smugly behind his desk, hands folded together and smile settled firmly in place and watching him as if he were nothing more than a bothersome irritant to send packing as soon as possible. A sick, black rage swept through him, making his hands tremble and his stomach knot, but somehow, it swam underneath a peculiar sense of deadening calm that anchored through him from head to toe. "You think I should talk to Kimbley," he said. "All right. I will try talking to Kimbley."

"Oh, is that so? There you go, Mr. Mustang, that's a good boy." Slughorn beamed again, so sickeningly proud of himself Roy wanted to vomit. "I'm sure you'll feel much better once you just speak to him about what's bothering you."

He'd feel much better, huh?

Was that it?

Talking to Kimbley would get him feeling better?

Oh, he'd talk to Kimbley, all right.

"Thank you, Professor Slughorn," he said. Ground out. Nearly hissed. "Thank you very much."

Then, because he could not bear it anymore, his whipped around on numb, shaking feet, yanked his hand out of Riza's, and swept straight out of the classroom- deaf to Riza's desperate attempt to call him back.

* * *

When Roy finally slipped back to his common room that night, it was well past curfew, and far darker and colder than he had ever seen the castle before.

He did not care.

The common room was mostly deserted, only a few groups of older students huddled around over stacks of parchment and scattered textbooks, and one couple near dozing together by the flickering green fire. He attracted little more than a half-hearted, tired glance from one of the studiers, then was right back to being ignored.

He didn't care about that, either.

He _did not_ care.

It was late and almost silent as Roy tore his way back to his room, all but panting with the restrained rage of it and the only reason he didn't slam the door open was through the thinnest shred of self control that he had left. He stood there in the doorway, tense and coiled and so taut it felt like something was tearing him apart from the inside out, panting through gritted teeth, tumbling right on the edge to falling apart-

Only to find them asleep.

Each and every single one of them.

Even Kimbley.

Roy tensed again. Something cold and bitter swept through him from head to toe, the rage nearly boiling over to the breaking point.

All right, then. He would just wait until morning. He would just wait, and then they would all wake up, and then- well, he was just going to wait until morning. Roy, all but hissing through gritted teeth, started to turn violently towards his own bed. His pillow wasn't there. His pillow had gone missing- probably, if past experience was at all telling, stuffed into an ugly closet, or perhaps Kimbley had finally charmed it out the window right into the Black Lake.

That was fine, then. What did he care? _That was fine!_ What, was that all in his head, too? Was Slughorn right, and he'd just dreamed up every time his things gone missing, that it was just a bloody funny _joke_ for him to come back at one in the morning to find bed ransacked? Oh, yes, _hilarious._ He really got the humor in it. So hilarious that it always happened to him. So funny that he never could find his books or his parchment or his clothes or letters from home. _HILARIOUS._

It was fine, though. He hadn't been planning on sleeping, anyway. Didn't need his pillow. Didn't need- oh that was nice, they'd spelled ink on his sheets, too. That was fine. Just a little mess. That would wash out. Didn't matter.

Because it was all just a joke.

_Right?_

It was all just a hugely funny _joke._

So Roy settled himself on his ruined bed, throwing himself to it so violently it was a miracle nobody else woke up. Pity. He would've liked it if they had. But aside from some mumbling from Lucius' corner, and a muffled grumble from Arcturus', there was nothing. Kimbley didn't even move.

Roy curled in on himself even tighter, kneeling still on the ink-splattered sheets, gripped his wand tighter, and settled in to wait.

Because if Slughorn thought he should fix this himself? If even his own Head of House would willfully turn a blind eye, because Roy _knew_ he had seen what his roommates did to him in class, he knew Slughorn had seen those slimy, slick little damn _liars_ in every meeting of his stupid Slug Club, he knew what they were capable of- but all he had to say to him that it was a misunderstanding? That his roommates were from such fine parents, nothing like _him,_ they were the best of the best, they would _never_ do something to hurt him, not in Slughorn's eyes, in Slughorn's eyes he was just an incompetent idiot causing trouble for his wonderful, well-behaved, slickly smiling roommates and it was all just a _misunderstanding?!_

Then he was _done_ taking it.

* * *

When the alarms went off the next morning, he was still ready.

Roy tensed darkly the moment the sounds of morning hit the air. Magical alarm clocks, the shifting of blankets, his roommates groaning and grumbling and rolling again. Lucius waved his arms about like the smarmy brat that he was, high-pitched and whiny; Arcturus, to his view, tried to simply punch his silent.

Kimbley, like the creep he was, was perfectly quiet, and somehow, this only incensed Roy even more.

Roy stayed down still, curled loosely under his blankets and feigning sleep to just listen as the others started moving around the room, getting ready and gathering their things amidst small talk. They ignored him completely, like he'd been expecting, and that was fine, too. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to him, save for a half-hearted kick at his bed by Lucius, he thought, but that was nothing. He could bide his time. He could wait.

Wait, until...

"Ready to go, then?"

"Yeah. I was thinking, want to meet in the library after Charms? Or-"

"No, I'd rather relax for once, thanks..."

So they were finally about to leave, then.

At long last, Roy pushed himself straight upright.

His heart racing in his chest, so desperately he could feel the pulse pound in his head and tremble in his hands, Roy shoved himself out of bed. He strode swiftly forward on still shaking legs, and swept firmly around to plant himself right at the foot of his biggest tormentor's bed.

"Kimbley," he snapped.

A dead, chilling silence settled over their shared room. All eyes, confused, unsettled eyes, landed right on him.

Including Kimbley's.

And Roy just stood there in the silence, staring right back at Kimbley, and waited for him to speak.

"Well, well," the other boy murmured after several moments, voice still half a grunt with sleep. He stared at Roy, glancing over the disheveled robes he hadn't even changed out of the night before with a vague aura of confusion, but even with his eyes sticky with sleep, they were clear enough- _alive_ enough- for him to know he had been heard. He started to smile again, head tilting to the side. "Looks like the baby has something to say, boys."

Roy tensed again.

Oh, Kimbley had heard him, all right.

And this time, he _would_ be listened to.

"Don't call me that, Kimbley."

Kimbley blinked at him again, tilting his head to the side, the rest of him sloped with just enough casualness to be infuriating. There were more mumbles behind him, he heard them, uncertainty and confusion, but Kimbley remained quiet... and watching him as a cat might a meal.

Then, lithe and graceful as if he wasn't half asleep at all, the Slytherin calmly reached down to grab his wand, and started towards him.

"Oh?" he asked, drawing one step forwards. Two. Closer. Another day Roy might've flinched away in terror, but today was not any other day, and today he was no longer running away. "So, baby-Roy-"

In one breathless space of mind-blanking rage, Roy yanked his wand out from beneath his robes, and prodded it straight into Kimbley's chest.

In an instant, everything crumbled straight from thick, stifling tension into a crushing, suffocating quiet.

And Roy, for the very first time, smiled back.

"I told you," he hissed, pushing it even harder into him, "to stop calling me that."

Kimbley stood, unbearably tense and now, perfectly still, across from him. He tilted his head gently to the slide, appraising him with those irritatingly calm eyes of his, because he was just _standing there,_ perfectly unbothered, not even making a single attempt to get his wand down or push Roy away. After several moments, he waved one hand a little, gesturing for the two Slytherins behind him to stay back, but through it all, he still said nothing.

He still did nothing at all, but wait for Roy to speak.

So Roy, now all but viciously snarling in unrestrained glee, did.

"You are going to stop going through my things," he said flatly. "You are going to stop taking my things. You are going to stop vandalizing my things."

A cold, arrogant smile began to crawl its way onto the Slytherin's face, the slightest sliver of amusement. "We are?"

"Yes, you are, and I am not done. You are going to stop harassing me in class. You are going to stop taking letters from my family. You are going to stop hitting me. All _three_ of you. Do you understand?"

There was another stretch of dreadful quiet. Roy's heart pounded so hard in his ears he was all but dizzy, and Kimbley, again, just continued to smile.

"Oh?" the Slytherin drawled after several moments, head tilting to the side again for him to just observe him through his narrowed, dangerous eyes. "So you think you're in charge, now, is that it? You spend the night somewhere, get a bit of a rebel streak in you, and think now you can tell me what to do?" He looked pointedly down towards the wand still stuck to his chest, twisting his shirt into a swirled knot, then back up to Roy, face twisting again into a smirk. "Or... what, exactly? You think you're going to curse me? Is that it, then?"

"I don't _think,_ Kimbley."

"You're going to curse me?" he plodded on, starting to smile, now, and this time there was laughter again from behind him. " _You?_ Roy Mustang the Squib? _You,_ who can't even perform a simple Softening Charm, yet we're supposed to bel-"

_"Flipendo!"_

The force of the spell drove Roy back, but he'd been ready for it, because he'd been practicing it all night until he'd had it and he'd known what would happen, so he was ready. But Kimbley was not ready, and Kimbley, the very instant the heated shockwave shot out the end of his wand, was lifted into the air, tumbled head over heels, and slammed straight back into his bed with a solid, earsplitting _crack._ He hit the back corner and slid down to the floor in a puddle of limbs spread akimbo, gasping in disheveled hair and robes with a split lip, for the first time, the _very first time_ shocked, stunned, _in pain,_ and for the very first time that year Roy got to laugh at _him_ and it was everything he'd ever wanted.

There were more panicked gasps behind him, rustling and shock, disbelief, even on Kimbley's stupid unflappable face, but the euphoric rush of it was like nothing Roy had ever known. It went straight to his head and left him so light he was floating, the blood pounding through his veins and everything in him so stunned because _Kimbley was down,_ and _he'd done it- he'd done it, he'd done it-_ and in the shocked silence that gasped between them there was nothing more than that. He'd done it, he'd _done it-!_

Kimbley, slow, wide-eyed, and speechless, lifted a wavering hand up to wipe at his face. He pulled it away, and for several moments just sat there crumpled on the floor, blinking at the smeared blood from his lip.

Then, he looked back up at Roy.

Something cold and angry in his eyes snapped.

He prowled up onto his feet like a great and dangerous wild animal, all the speed and strength of something feral that made Roy's heart to stop. He kept his wand in the air, wavering and numb, mouth spluttering through the spell again, something, anything, but Kimbley was just _there,_ stalking forward with bared teeth and eyes cold as a block of ice, radiating a sick aura of horrifying, lethal _danger-_

And while Roy held his wand out, spluttering his way through another shocked attempt at an iteration of the spell, Kimbley cocked his fist back, and punched him in the face.

Then again, and again, and a knee to the stomach, and _again,_ until he went down.

"Who do you think you are? _Who do you think you are?!"_ Kimbley dropped straight down with him, pressed right into his face as his head buzzed, dazed, wheezing, one hand clutching in his hair while the other yanked right into Roy's for his wand to drop with an empty clatter. Roy gasped, a wholly new panic twisting in his chest as he scrambled for it, trying to cry out, but Kimbley was there and faster and not letting go.

"Who do you think you are, _baby-Roy?_ Huh? _HUH?!"_

Roy yanked back, or tried to; over the ringing in his head he couldn't manage anything more than swaying on the spot. He cried out, scrambling against him back for his wand, but a stinging slap met across his face again and he was shoved down flat on his back to be pinned right into the cold floor.

 _"Well?!"_ Kimbley jabbed his own wand at him, poking it so hard into his chest it forced the breath out of him, and Roy had no doubt in his mind that if he had to use it then he _would._ "You think you're better than me, Roy? Is that it?!" Knees abruptly dug into his arms, slamming him down, and for one terrified heartbeat, Roy thought he was going to hex him at point blank range.

"Well?!" Kimbley shouted again, this time jerking his head up to stare at his friends across the room. "What are you waiting for? _Get over here!"_

A chorus of startled gasps sounded behind him, swiftly followed by rapid footsteps, and- no, no, now there were _three_ of them- "Get off me! _Get off me!"_ He started to kick, even managed a blow before a pale-faced Lucius and a stunned Arcturus appeared, grabbing at his ankles the way Kimbley directed- and just like that, he was well and thoroughly trapped.

Roy's heart dropped like a stone.

And as he panted, shaking and shocked into the silence, and Kimbley stayed there knelt over his chest, his own wand digging deep into the sting... the Slythering slowly started to grin.

He knew he'd won just as well as Roy did.

"Now, now," he murmured, one hand lifting to rub at his bleeding lip again. "What are we to do with you?"

"Let me go! Let me go, Kimbley, I swear-"

"Let you go? After what _you_ just did?" He dug the wand deeper against him, smile spreading almost too big for his face, feral, wild, _terrifying._ "No, you need to be taught a lesson, baby-Roy- you don't like that, right? Baby-Roy, baby-Roy needs to learn the rules, can't let you go until you've le-"

Kimbley stopped short. His eyes widened, color darkening through them as if with the weight of a sudden realization, something that had occurred to him alone with Roy still trapped and trying to kick underneath him, Lucius and Arcturus pale at his feet, but _Kimbley,_ now, almost disgustingly smug. The Slytherin glanced down at him again, his smile twisting cold again, and then, for the very first time, he pulled his wand back from his chest.

The lightened pressure made him gasp, greedily sucking in air at such obvious danger finally leaving his chest, the deep, digging pain of it vanishing, but the relief that slammed through him was desperately short-lived. Because he was free for a heartbeat, free even while pinned, safe even with all three of them on top of him- and then in the next moment his wand was back, this time, down to his shaking hand.

"You want us to leave you alone?" he drawled, grinning. " _Epoximise."_ There was a yellow glow of light, then a strange feeling of slick warmth that crawled through his hand. Roy cried out again, trying to kick back but his protests fell on blind eyes and deaf ears as the Slytherin turned away again, lowering his wand back to his other hand. _"Epoximise,"_ he said again. "You want us to let you go? All right, baby-Roy. Then we'll do just that." He sat back on his chest, so smug and proud with Roy frozen and speechless, triumphant over _something,_ and, smile spreading still, the Slytherin at last pushed himself to his feet.

When freedom at last came to him, no matter how confused and stricken and terrified he was, Roy did not wait.

He bolted.

Or- he tried to.

"Let's go, everyone. He wants us to go, so let's do it," Kimbley said, standing back. "Let him go."

The other boys just looked confused again, staring up at Kimbley and desperately looking for answers, but Roy didn't care about Kimbley, because all Roy could realize was that his hands wouldn't move. He tugged again, pushing and scrambling against the floor, and his _legs_ moved just fine, but his hands wouldn't. The panic had him drawing his legs up underneath him in a heartbeat but his hands held fast and stung because they were _stuck,_ stuck right to the floor and no matter how hard he pulled- they weren't coming up, why weren't they-?

Kimbley had _stuck them_ to the floor?!

Roy's heart skipped a beat, and his eyes widened in cold, horrorstruck shock.

They were stuck. No matter how hard he tugged it felt like they'd been glued to the floor, except not glued, because if it was glue he'd have made progress, but he hadn't been able to tear his hands even an inch away. They were stuck, and if his hands were stuck, then- then that meant-

 _He_ was stuck.

Oh, no.

Realization slowly filtered around him, crumbling into place as a cold chill burning through his blood, a knot in his stomach, his heart in his throat. Slowly, scarcely able to even breathe, Roy raised his head up to stare back at the three Slytherins across from him.

Kimbley was beaming so huge it was very, very clear that this exactly what his intention was.

"Well?" Kimbley asked, spreading his hands. "It's what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted us to let you go... what's the matter, Roy? We let you go; it's what you wanted!"

"Kimbley-" Roy gasped hard, jerking against the floor again, arms straining to lift but they just _wouldn't._ "Kimbley, this isn't funny! Let me go, Kimbley, do it now, I-"

"Oh, I agree, it's not funny at all. But I'm not trying to be funny! No, I'm just giving you exactly what you asked for, aren't I?" Kimbley nudged at both the boys behind him, Lucius nervously amused while Arcturus was just pale and silent. "Well, I think we're all done here, aren't we? Can't imagine what more baby-Roy could want from us, after we've already been so generous. And so early in the day, too! You should thank us!"

Roy yanked again, his own panic rising higher and higher as he fought to manage _something;_ tear his hands off the floor, protect his head, anything at all, but there was just no give in the spell and with his hands stuck he couldn't even grab his wand to try and undo the charm. "T-thank you?!" he gasped, kicking back but to no avail. "You-"

"Yes, _thank you,_ baby-Roy. That's what you do in civilized, polite society; you thank people who try and do something nice for you. I understand you might not have a grasp on good manners, growing up in that hovel you call a home, coming from blood as polluted as yours, but that _is_ what you're supposed to do." He approached again, slower now, unguarded now that it was so sickeningly obvious that Roy couldn't stop him, with a languid ease and smile that was terrifying. "Say _thank you,_ baby-Roy."

A ferocious, white-hot rage swept through him from head to toe. He was physically shaking, he was so mad, arms trembling and hands wanting to even with palms glued to the rough floor. If he could've hexed Kimbley, if he could've gotten his wand in his hand, Roy no longer had any doubt or hesitation at all that he would've. He wanted to see him hit the wall again and slam against it and crack his head open on it, so badly open he could never say another word or do another thing to him ever again.

He couldn't manage any of that- he could not manage a single thing to so much as protect himself- so he did all that was in his power, instead.

He locked his jaw shut, and he glared up at Kimbley in a silent refusal to say a single word.

His wordless protest, however, only seemed to further embolden the Slytherin standing before him.

"I said," Kimbley all but purred, seeming to swell with glee, "to say _thank you,_ Roy." He moved forward again, this time dropping to his knees in front of him, and Roy scrambled to pull up his own knees to protect himself, hiding his face behind them, but Kimbley just forced head up with one hand and slapped across his face with the other.

It stung.

A little.

It was nothing compared to all that Kimbley had already done to him.

So Roy kept his mouth shut, and glared in dead silence, and he kept his mouth shut again even when Kimbley's dark eyes narrowed, and he raised hand to slap him again.

Lucius and Arcturus were dead silent. At least, they _were._ Somewhere around the fifth slap he heard them start snickering, and at one particularly loud _smack,_ he knew he heard one of them just barely catch himself from bursting out into laughter. He didn't care. He wasn't opening his mouth unless Kimbley dragged it open with his own fist, and if it went that far Roy might well bite his fingers off.

He'd tried appeasing Kimbley until now, and it had gotten him nowhere except being beaten on his bed.

He was done doing what they wanted.

The slaps continued on, whipping his face back and forth until it was so numb it hurt. His head spun, he tasted blood, and even the laughter was starting to die down, but Kimbley's vehemence wasn't. For a heartbeat Roy wished the next slap would be with a textbook instead, because that one would probably knock him out of consciousness, and end all of this in one fell blow.

The next blow was not with a textbook, and no matter how much easier it would've been if it had knocked him out, it did not. Someone laughed again, this time barely even audible over the buzzing in his own head.

It went on for so long that it took him several swings of his head, still back and forth, still stinging badly, still ringing in his ears and head, to realize that it had finally stopped.

"Well," Kimbley announced into the new silence. A slow, smug drawl, reeking of overconfidence and arrogance. "I think we broke the baby, boys. And since-"

Roy dredged up what little stubborn will he had left, and spat in his face.

The laughter cut off into a dead silence, and Kimbley went very, very still.

And Roy just _didn't care._

"... _since_ my hand is beginning to hurt..." With a slow, enforced sort of ease, Kimbley raised his hand up again, wiping his face with an implacable, unbothered air. His dangerous eyes narrowed again. "I was thinking perhaps we ought to get going. Give him some to... think about it."

Their two roommates remained dead silent; all Roy was even aware of from them was their vague presence, there was nothing beyond Kimbley standing there in front of him, now showing him his hand. He was right. It glowed red now, surely smarting and sore from the _smack smack smack,_ but Roy found it hard to sympathize with his own face about five times worse.

Kimbley gave him another hard slap. One single, hard, angry slap.

Then he rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and smiled.

"Have a good day," he told him, nearly sing-song, so lackadaisical it was sickening. Picking up his own bag off the ground, Kimbley swiveled around, proceeding straight towards Lucius and Arcturus. One hand went to each of them, prodding both of the pale-faced boys along behind him when they'd looked to be rooted to the spot, and without even the slightest sense of hesitation, he led them all towards the door. "We'll see you after class, baby-Roy."

Then, Roy still utterly stuck and trapped down on the floor, Lucius and Arcturus uncertain and pale on their feet, Kimbley prodded the two of them outside with him, and shut the door solidly behind them.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments/kudos!!! 
> 
> A day late, and I ended up splitting the chapter in two, so the next update will be McGonagall, too... don't know yet whether I'll include Maes in that chapter or not. I'll see how it works out ;-;
> 
> Also! If you've read YAJJ's addition to this verse, Snakebite, this chapter will feel a little similar! (And if you haven't read it, get out of here and go read it in my bookmarks to feel even sadder for poor little Roy ;-;). I didn't fully plan out this fic until I started writing it, so, since it doesn't really make sense for Snakebite to take place in this timeline, we decided it's more of an AU for the AU. (go read it because it's goddamn wonderful and made me sad)
> 
> Okay okay I'm done now. Fic time!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Nightly patrols around the castle consisted of three things:

Five percent action, in relation to unruly students caught out of bed, unruly ghosts ( _Peeves)_ caught making trouble, and Professor Quirrell's unruly, nocturnal pet iguana.

Five percent false alarms, in what _looked_ to be action, but resolved itself into little more than a thumping branch against a window when she rounded the corner.

And ninety percent relentless, interminable, quite nearly irredeemable, _boredom._

It was, simply, a necessary part of being a professor. Minerva could not and would not complain about it. In fact, it was often a useful excuse for her to explore the castle as a cat, and she had caught more than one student out of bed merely because they'd been smart enough to hide at the sound of human footsteps- but not from the prying eyes of a cat.

In her mind, if the students weren't smart enough to keep out of sight even from a seemingly innocuous animal, then they weren't old enough for the privilege of sneaking out after dark.

Not that she'd ever admit that aloud, of course.

But this was all long ago said, done, and decided, so very late that Thursday night, Minerva did not linger on how so very _long_ these nightly patrols felt, or how uselessly frustrating and empty they so often turned out to be, or how a small part of her almost wished for Peeves to get up to some mischief to simply break the tedium with something. Because, in fact, there was very little room for her to do much at all except quietly pace the hallways, watch as the clocks ticked later in the night, and wait until it grew late enough for her search through the deserted castle to turn into a search for what little sleep there was room left for in the night.

Until that night, previously one placed solidly in the aforementioned category of relentless, in terminable, irredeemable boredom, morphed itself straight out of it.

The first anomaly of the night came shortly after she reached the dungeons. Ordinarily, patrols took her near each house's common room, as if students were out of bed roaming the corridors, it was most likely to catch them near their dormitories. However, the Slytherin common room was not very near where she first entered the dungeons; perhaps a ten minute, fifteen minute walk, shorter if she was prowling as a cat.

And it was there, still fifteen minutes away from the Slytherin common room, that she glimpsed her first sign of life all night:

At the very end of the corridor, sitting almost just against the corner and shrouded in darkness, was the small, huddled up, curled lump of a child.

She stopped short.

The figure was very small, surely no older than a second year, and very still, so frozen in the darkness that he or she might have even been asleep, had they not been sitting on the cold stone floor in the middle of the hallway in the middle of the night. For several moments, she found herself simply just too _surprised_ to do little more than stand there and blink down at the distant, silent figure, utterly taken aback by his sudden appearance that was so incongruous she almost didn't know how to approach him.

Then, in the perfect, disquieting silence, several certain bits of information began to filter through her confusion.

For example, the fact that she was near the Slytherin common rooms.

The fact that the student was so plainly young, so very small, and with a bowed head covered with tousled, short, dark hair.

The fact that, this morning, just one among all her first years had missed her class- one first year, small, dark-haired Slytherin.

She looked down at the child over the stern rim of her glasses, and her eyes narrowed.

First she'd noticed him dozing off in class, far more than often enough for it to be attributable to a bad day. His assignment quality had started slipping, and when she'd pulled him aside to ask him if he was having trouble, he'd done little more than stare at the floor and shake his head.

Then, there was tonight.

Tonight, where he had, first, evidently failed to prepare for their biggest exam of the year yet, and instead of at least showing his face and admitting to it, had _skipped_ her class that morning- and at the same time, had had the gall to be found out of bed this late at night?

She frowned sternly down at him again, and her grip on her wand tightened.

The absolute _nerve_ of that child...

Drawing herself up to her full height, Minerva gathered her robes about her and proceeded smartly down the corridor, banishing all the rest of her lingering hesitation to evaporate off drop by drop to leave behind only the cold, expectant mask of a disappointed teacher.

It was too dark for her to see the child do little more than flinch at the footsteps, curling up a little tighter when he heard her approach, and as far as she was concerned, it was only the confirmation that he knew what he'd done was wrong. But he did not try to run off, which was at least one slim point for him tonight- chasing after a scrambling first year was quite low on her list of things to enjoy on a week night. Or, more accurately, any night or day of the week. No- he did nothing more but just sit there on the cold, hard floor, curled up and paralyzed in the dark, and did not withdraw even when Minerva walked straight up to his tiny form, lit the tip of her wand with little more than a wave, and cleared her throat.

"Mr. Mustang," she said.

The small, curled up form before her remained perfectly frozen. His face stayed down, buried into his knees and hidden by his mussed hair, and even as the unbearable silence dragged on, he didn't so much as try to lift his head up to face her.

 _"Mr. Mustang,"_ she said tartly again, louder than before. "What do you think you are doing?"

The boy, at last, flinched. He sucked in a jumpy, stilted breath, audible only in the otherwise oppressive silence of the night, and the grip of his little arms around his little legs tightened.

He lifted his head.

He lifted his head, and, by the pale, moonlight glow of her wand, she saw his damp, red face... cheeks scarlet, first with the long smear of blood, then, when she looked closer, an underlying soreness of _bruises_ underneath the stain _..._

And then, when she looked even closer, flushed with tears.

"...Oh," she said.

* * *

Roy had no idea how this night had ended up the way it had.

He still had no idea whether he ought to be reassured or not, and whatever the answer to that question was, it didn’t matter, because he was too frightened to do anything but sit here in McGonagall’s office, hugging himself, with his nails digging so hard into his sleeves they nearly ripped.

He’d never been in McGonagall’s office before. He’d barely even seen her outside of class before tonight, but even in a nightgown with her hair down she was just as imposing a force as she was when handing out homework or detentions, and that it was so late at night and Roy was such a disheveled mess didn’t help matters. He was sure he looked like a mess, at least, anxiously trying to smooth down the messy front of his robes and trying not to even _think_ of his sore, hot face, but every time he started to wipe at his stupid, embarrassing tears his hand stung so badly a doubly embarrassing whine would claw its way out his throat and he just couldn't stop himself. He kept sniffling and crying and bleeding and no matter _how hard_ he tried he couldn't stop.

He'd been bundled there onto his professor's overly stuffed couch, a quilt that smelled mildly of spices and old books settled solidly around his shoulders that was the warmest thing he'd felt all day, so warm it was _too_ warm, but he was so cold he couldn't throw it off. He'd been freezing since hours ago and was willing to swelter himself to death if he could just get _warm._ At some point McGonagall had folded a handkerchief into his hand, he didn't remember when but it was there now, one that smelled just like the blanket, and he'd been wiping at his face ever since with it but the tears just wouldn't stop coming. And now- now he'd just _ruined_ the handkerchief, too, because it was soaked and now smeared with his blood, and it was so _embarrassing_ and he was such a _wreck_ and-

"I wanna go home," he whimpered, tiny and muffled into the wet cotton. "I... I wanna go _home."_

McGonagall, still sitting before him, quietly dabbing at his forehead with a second handkerchief magicked from nowhere, paused. "What was that?" she asked, voice low and- and _not_ strict. Concerned, even, in a way that was almost baffling. Concerned, and her eyes, too. Usually so demanding, so stern, now just... troubled.

It was everything he'd never seen from her before, and he knew it was all because of _him,_ and it was at once far too much and so overwhelming he couldn't even come close to bearing it.

"N-n-nothing," he choked, a second miserable whimper now and his face flaming hot, and when his stupid eyes threatened to overflow all over again, he wiped at them and then kept his mouth shut.

Her eyes narrowed again. The very same way they'd been narrowed when she'd found him in the hall. When she'd looked down to him in disappointment and judgment and been so _mad._ She looked at him just like that, and he wilted back into the couch, wanting to shrink and squirm away, but helpless to manage nothing more than a miserable little hiccup into his blanket.

He so desperately just wanted to go _home._ He wanted to open his eyes and be ten again, curled up on his aunt's couch listening to a traveling vampire tell him stories about a screeching banshee aside a dracologist peddling dragon claws while his sisters bundled hot cocoa into his hands and his aunt listened next to him. He wanted to look around and see the bar and his family and a world still full of unknowns and wonders and not _Kimbleys._ He wanted-

He just wanted to go home.

Through the desperate, frantic poundings of his heart, so hard in his own ears he could barely see, and his eyes were so blurry it didn't matter anyway, at first, there was nothing. Just the ashamed stretch of silence between him and his professor, and Roy blinking hardly against the wetness in his eyes, face still burning and emotion still punishingly tight in his throat.

Then, with a gentle, restrained care that was so soft it was unbearable, McGonagall reached out towards him again, took his injured hand, and turned it over for her to see.

There was a sharp intake of breath, then yet another miserable, unsettling pause.

"Oh, dear," she said heavily.

The tumultuous cascade of words, brewing sickly in him without release until then, abruptly just tumbled out like there was a dam and with that she had burst it. It sounded chaotic and probably senseless even to his own ears, but it was too late and he simply couldn't stop them. "Kimbley- Kimbley took-" He stared at his hands, breath catching in his throat to see them in the new, harsh light, then yanked them away, burying them back into his hair, the blood slick and his heart still racing. "He wouldn't l-let me _go_ \- he kept s-saying I had to- to thank him- I thought Maes or Riza would find me but they _didn't,_ t-they didn't look, and Kimbley said they d-didn't even _ask,_ and then he made-"

"Mr. Mustang-"

"He said I had to- to do it myself..." He gasped again, trembling and nearly sick, shaking. "He let one hand go but I was too- too _stupid-_ I didn't know the counter-curse- they just pushed until it- it-"

McGonagall said something again, but this time he couldn't even hear it over his own unsteady breaths. He was now just gasping too hard to even get the words out at all, could barely think over the roar in his own head, and soon found himself helpless to do anything at all but just sink back into the couch, and try not to cry even harder into his robes.

It was, overall, devastatingly simple. Kimbley had come back. Hours and hours later, when the day was already gone and the last of his pride and strength with it, ten or more hours glued to the floor in the darkness and alone, but Kimbley had come back. Kimbley had unstuck one of his hands- just one- from the floor. Roy had finally had the desperate freedom to grab at his wand, the one chance to defend himself that was all he'd wanted all day long- but he hadn't needed to defend himself, because Kimbley hadn't been coming at him again.

Kimbley had simply told him to finish the job, and free his other hand himself.

And he hadn't known the spell to do it.

He'd had to sit there, stuck still to the floor, and fail so badly in front of them all to such raucous laughter he'd hadn't been able to bear it, and then, he'd had to swallow his pride, and ask Kimbley to please release his other hand, too.

He hadn't released his other hand. At least- not magically.

He'd used a textbook, a sold wind up, and an even stronger swing.

And now...

Roy swallowed, hard. His world again narrowing down to include only himself, pushing out the worried professor sitting before him and the whole entire rest of the room, he looked down at himself.

His hand looked... ugly. Even through his own miserable tears and upset, Roy could see it. Both were dirty and scratched, but the one Kimbley had glued down and then torn away become raw and red with blood, the palm just _shredded_ ,and looking at it now he could see exactly what his classmate had done. He'd stuck his hand to the floor and rather than break the charm, he'd broken the skin. He'd forcefully ripped him away and the layer of skin that had been stuck to the stones had just been left behind.

It was ugly. It was bleeding. It was _still_ bleeding, an hour or more later, palm slippery and red, and suddenly, to see it now, all he could think about was how much it _hurt._

This time, he didn't let himself whimper- he _couldn't-_ but, oh... he desperately _wanted_ to.

"Mr. Mustang?" McGonagall asked again. Quieter, this time, less expectant, more gentle. She waited several moments, his injured hand slowly being turned over to rest, palm-up, down on the cushions, so the injury didn't sting. "Have you eaten anything today?'

Roy, caught midway through yet _another_ miserable, desperate choke of a sob, stopped. His eyes widened.

Had he- had he _eaten?_

Slowly, another stricken few moments later, he shook his head. No. He hadn't. He'd never had the chance to. Kimbley had trapped him on the floor before he'd left for breakfast, and hadn't torn him up until it was so late dinner was over. The _day_ was over. It was dark and cold and late and he'd run outside like a baby to sit in a deserted and lonely hallway for an hour more just because he couldn't be in there any longer.

He'd spent the day either trapped in his room, or sitting alone in the dark corridor, bleeding on the floor.

So.

No.

He hadn't _eaten._

It wasn't as if it even mattered. He'd cried so hard he felt sick to his stomach. Even if it wasn't too late for dinner, he wouldn't have been able to eat anything anyway.

...even if he _had_ felt dizzy, when McGonagall had taken him back to her office...

He waited uncertainly for McGonagall to say something again, eyes still glued to his lap, but it hit him now just how badly he had explained it. Why he hadn't been in class. Why he hadn't eaten. Where he'd been all day. Why he looked like _this._ Pretty much... everything. But every time he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

All he could remember was Kimbley making him say _please._ Kimbley making him say _thank you._

Then all three of them laughing when he'd run, hurting and bleeding so badly he could barely think.

"Kimbley-" He stopped, voice wavering and throat thick, and tried again. "Kimbley m-made me-"

"Have a biscuit, Mr. Mustang."

Roy, still stuttering, blinked.

What?

Slowly, still reeling, he blinked back up at his professor. "I-"

"Have a biscuit," she said again, this time preferring forwards a plate from her desk with the exact same stern, no-nonsense air she taught and handed out homework in class.

Even to his own exhausted, dizzy haze, it was clear it was not a request that he could turn down.

Slowly, his less injured hand still trembling, Roy reached forwards, and shakily took one from the plate.

He was exhausted and embarrassed and upset, stomach still tied into nauseating knots, but the biscuit was small and crumbled in his mouth, and already felt easy on his stomach. He wasn't hungry, but it didn't make him feel any _worse,_ and after a few seconds, when the first bite did not make him feel any worse, he tentatively went for a second. He kept his eyes down, barely able to work out a muffled _thank you._

"You're welcome," she said, and neatly placed the plate right down next to him in an obvious invitation for him to take another.

Another cold, unsettled silence fell. Roy still could not look up; he knew McGonagall was still sitting across from him, but she was not moving or saying anything, and the longer the quiet went on, the harder it was to stand.

At last, his professor moved a little closer, withdrawing her wand. Roy flinched backwards, pressing himself back against the beaten cushions, but all there was was a wordless wave, and then, a gentle press to his hand.

Underneath all the blood, Roy couldn't see what she was doing; at least, not on the surface. But he still felt what was going on underneath it, and once he understood, he was so briefly shocked, then just relieved, he could barely remember how to move his mouth to say _thank you_ again.

She was healing the wounds.

Beyond that, there was silence. She didn't ask him anything or make him do anything else, just kept on running the glowing tip of her wand down over his hand; then, when she at last finished with his still dirty, blood-streaked hand, moved silently to his face instead. He gulped, still silent and now twice as embarrassed, but she still did not say anything. When he finally dared to chance a single glance up towards her face, she didn't even seem impatient or disappointed.

Just... quiet.

Impassive.

_Waiting._

Roy fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch again.

"Kimbley did this," he whispered at last, numb and hopeless. He didn't expect anything at all to come of it, not after Slughorn, but it was the truth and he had to say it. "Zolf Kimbley. It was my fault. I... I hexed him first... I just wanted him to stop- I wanted to prove I could fight back, maybe if he learned I could then he'd stop. But I wasn't good enough. I hexed him first but then he and his friends came at me all at once and took my wand. They stuck me there and left."

The wand still wavering over his face paused. Roy had no doubt McGonagall was fully aware he was leaving out parts to this story... how could she not? He'd never gotten a look at a mirror but guessed if she was trying to heal his face, there was something there to heal in the first place.

The sneaking memory of Kimbley slapping him across the face, over and over and over, crawled back up, and Roy, swallowing nausea, forced himself to plod on ahead, and above all, _not_ think about it.

"I... I thought Maes, or... or Riza... _someone_ would ask. Someone would realize I was missing... I thought s-someone would- _come."_ Swallowing hard again, Roy quickly buried in another bite, not all hungry but trying to just muffle the tiny, broken sob into it so nobody could hear but him. "I couldn't get up without help and I was too scared to try and get in another Slytherin, I- I thought-... I thought Maes would... come."

There was another uncertain pause, and this time, it took almost more than Roy had to keep his own despair silent.

_I was so stupid._

Why would Maes or Riza or any of the others ask after him? Why would they be worried? He'd ran out on Riza yesterday morning and she'd only been trying to help. He kept dragging all of them down... they were always wanting to talk, have fun, hang out with everyone else, but he could never handle it. He always had to linger back, flake on them and disappear, shaking his head because he was too _scared..._

They were probably just glad, when he hadn't shown up today.

They were probably relieved to finally be able to hang out without having to look after baby-Roy.

It was his fault for believing they'd ever wanted to be his friends in the first place.

"Mr. Mustang?"

Roy sniffed a little again, keeping his eyes stuck down. He barely managed to tilt his shoulders up and down in a shrug to signal that he was listening.

Her wand tapped gently against his forehead again, slowly easing away yet another spot of old, sore pain. Then, as she still worked, she said, "Miss Hawkeye actually did come up to me after class this morning, wanting to know where you were. She... seemed quite worried about you." She paused again, a slow frown coming to her features. "...Unfortunately, this was after Mr. Kimbley spoke with me. He told me that you were skipping class today so you'd have more time to study for my exam. I... unfortunately believed him... however-"

But Roy was no longer listening.

The exam.

The- the _exam._

There'd been an exam in Transfiguration today. He hadn't even- he'd _forgotten,_ how had he forgotten? It had never once crossed his mind, but _now,_ sitting here in the middle of his sternest, most unforgiving professor's office in the middle of the night. A panicked gasp lurched out of his chest and he shook his sore, aching head once, twice, then again, horrified with himself from head to toe and so stricken he could barely think. "I- I missed-" he gasped, shaking. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Professor!" Roy stared up at her, turning up so abruptly he bumped his noise against her wand, and she looked startled but he couldn't stop. "I didn't mean- I'm s-so sorry, I-"

"Mr. Mustang."

"I wasn't skipping, Professor, I _promise_ , it was Kimbley! It's always h-him- he- he takes my homework, I don't even _do it_ anymore, that's why I don't have it, he always steals it, it's always him, I wanted to go to class but he wouldn't let me- I'm so sorry, Professor McGonagall, I- Professor, _please-"_

 _"Episkey,"_ McGonagall murmured, head shaking through an almost fond smile with another gentle tap of her wand, right on his face. There was a peculiar popping sensation, uncomfortable but not as all as painful as the soreness and bruises beaten into his face all day long, and then with a small, bewildering sort of smile, she waved her wand again, this time for a different sort of spell, before focusing back on him.

Roy was left speechless again, still utterly lost and terrified and too distressed to bear. He sat there, trembling underneath the blanket, and now just watching as a heavy textbook floated towards them from nowhere, landed on his professor's lap, and flipped itself right open straight to the perfect page. McGonagall turned it around so he could read it, instead, and through his own exhausted, still wet eyes, he was just able to read that it was a section on the sticking charm.

The same one that Kimbley had used on him that very morning.

"I believe you," McGonagall said gently.

Just that. Just those three words. That was all she said.

Somehow, it was enough.

The tears rushed back, renewed and angry and twice as desperate as before. He bit his already abused lip, heaving in a shaky breath and arm wrapping back around his stomach to try and hold himself together. He clenched his teeth, locking his jaw shut, and refused to allow himself to react any more than that.

Just sitting there, utterly overwhelmed and silent, barely able to make any sound more than a squeak through his tight throat, and trembling so badly under the blanket it felt like he was crumbling apart. It was embarrassing and awful and miserable but after the day that he'd had he just couldn't even care.

And McGonagall, evidently, didn't mind it either.

"Here," she said, pointing down at the book, directing him towards some specific passage, then gestured with her own wand. "The Sticking Charm, and it's counter-charm, are second year spells. A bit advanced for your class, so, I'll tell you what, Mr. Mustang. When you can manage to properly undo a Sticking Charm, I'll waive the exam that you missed this morning. No more work will be necessary." She smiled at him a little, but Roy could barely even see it, barely had enough strength to even lift his eyes up again off the book before him. "I know you're clever enough to figure it out with that. I've seen your work, Mr. Mustang. ...or, at least, when you choose to do it."

Despair tinged with bitter anger swam through his throat again. When he _chose_ to. "He _takes_ it," he whispered again, or perhaps it was just a moan. "I don't not do it. Kimbley took it from me until I stopped trying."

None of this had ever been his _choice._

McGonagall, already on her way to turning away again, paused. For several moments, there was no reaction at all, and in the still, stifling silence of her office, Roy found himself wilting back a little more.

Then, without another word, his professor rose to her feet, leaving him sitting there on the couch while she strode brusquely to her desk, instead. Shuffling papers, moving books, searching for something through drawers. The rough movements, so unlike the usual quiet discipline from her classes, seemed aggravated, irritated, and something small and frightened curled up in Roy's stomach, because it could only be at him.

He didn't even know why he'd opened his mouth. Slughorn hadn't believed him. Why would anyone else? He shouldn't have even said anything... he had no proof, he had no evidence, he had no _anything_ except the word of the quiet boy who could barely so much as function throughout her class, word against _Kimbley,_ who was always bright and smiling and top of the class and with all the praise in the world.

Slughorn hadn't believed him.

McGonagall wouldn't, either.

His professor continued searching around for a minute more; Roy couldn't do anything but just stare senselessly down at the book, comprehending none of it and not having the will to even want to try. He flinched again at the continued sounds of movement and shifting, waiting for the inevitable hammer to fall even if he had no clue what that hammer would be, just that there was _always_ a next step, always a way for things to get worse, and they always _did_ get worse, and there was never anything he could do to stop it.

It was not long before McGonagall returned back to his side. Roy flinched back again, stomach squirming and eyes again glued desperately down to the book, but whatever it was that something in him was so terrified of did not happen. Instead, after a few seconds of silence, his professor clearly waiting for him to make eye contact but when it became clear that he could not, she simply settled another plate down beside him. This one held only a small vial, half full of a turquoise green liquid, and Roy shuddered again.

He knew what that was. He recognized it, from his childhood. Long ago, when he'd first moved in with his aunt. That was a Calming Draught.

"I need to go speak with another professor about this, Mr. Mustang. I'll be back in a few minutes, so you'll be all right if you stay in my office for the time being." She tapped once at the plate of biscuits with her wand. "This will refill, so you should eat as much as you want. And this--" she tapped her wand against the vial of potion, "--will help you feel better. As I said, I will be back shortly, but I need for you to stay here. All right?"

Roy shifted uncomfortably again. He felt impossibly small and pathetic under the blankets, and his voice was just utterly gone, lost in his throat.

He wanted to say he'd already been stuck and let alone all day.

He wanted to say _no._

"...Yes," he croaked, and nodded once.

He'd already embarrassed himself way more than enough, for one day.

McGonagall stayed kneeling down before him for another few more moments, observing him through narrowed eyes, clearly speculating whether or not he could actually keep to his word. When she was at last satisfied by whatever she'd seen in him, with another firm nod, she reached forward to quickly pat him on the shoulder, then was headed towards her office door without another word.

When she reached it, however, she stopped.

Roy fidgeted worse. He gripped the pages in his shaking hands so tightly they nearly tore, and could not, for the life of him, find it in him to actually meet her eyes.

She was mad at him. She was disappointed in him. She thought he was lying. Like everybody else, like all his other professors, she looked down at him and saw his parents in him, saw a stupid borderline Squib who didn't even belong at this school, who tried to lie and blame Kimbley as an excuse for why he was so pathetic. He'd just spent the last near twenty minutes practically bawling in her office and she'd watched the whole thing- how could she even stand to look at him, how could _any_ of them...

"Thirty points to Slytherin, Mr. Mustang."

He jumped.

Thirty...

Thirty points... _to_ Slytherin...?

At first, he was too stunned to do anything at all.

That was the very first time he'd earned any house points at all. Earned them. Not lost them. _Earned_ them.

When the shock finally passed by him enough to let him move again, jerking his head up to stare at his professor, it was to a slight, waiting smile. Stern, but a smile all the same. "For telling me the truth," she said.

Then, she was gone, and once again, just like since this morning, he was left alone.

Roy sat stock still again on the couch, staring now at the firmly shut the door. Another terrified, anxious breath hitched in his throat, and for several moments he was too overwhelmed to think at all.

Then, with another miserable, muffled moan, he curled back around himself, sank back into a little ball, and just thumped uselessly back into the corner of the couch as tightly as he could make it.

It was all too much.

The thick silence of the office settled around him, too close and too oppressive as he buried himself into the blanket even further. He was freezing and sick to his stomach and overwhelmed and miserable, and in that terrible moment, he couldn't handle anything more than just shutting his eyes and trying to disappear.

"I want to go home," he whispered again. This time, only to himself. Only in the safety of the deserted room, only for his own ears.

Then he whispered it again, this time so quietly into the folds of the blanket he couldn't even hear it himself.

_I want to go home._

* * *

When Professor McGonagall came back, so many minutes later he'd settled into a blurry, dizzy haze, Roy still hadn't been able to brink himself to move.

Unless he counted huddling even deeper back into the blankets, in which case... yeah. He'd moved a little. Somehow.

His hand still stung. His face still hurt.

Everything about this was still too much.

Roy only vaguely realized his professor had returned some time after it had happened, because her return came in the sound of voices, just outside her office, rather than the opening of the door for them to come inside. As far as he concerned, he preferred it that way. It was easier. Safer. He curled himself deeper back into the warmth of the blankets, overall too wholly exhausted to make the effort to listen; just taking in the sounds of two voices outside, letting them wash over him in his haze, and let them lull him deeper into something closer to sleep.

He hadn't slept in nearly two days, now, he realized distantly.

He...

He hated it here.

It took some time for the voices outside the office to raise high enough for him to hear. An argument, back and forth, McGonagall and- someone else. Roy stayed curled limply into the blanket, shuddering breaths muffled against his arm and stinging, barely healed palm, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart still pounding. Pounding like it had been since this morning. Since last night. Since all the way back to yesterday, when Riza had made him talk to Slughorn and Slughorn had turned him away.

It took him even longer to shake off his own fatigue and sense of defeat enough to make himself listen.

"...and by the looks of it, it wasn't for the first time!"

"If something was going on, he could've said something- reported-"

"He shouldn't have _had_ to! I found him upset and bleeding and from what little he's said, Horace, this was not for the first time! Am I to understand- Horace, he's _never_ said anything to you? Not once?"

"That's-..."

_"Horace?"_

Horace, Roy realized, with yet another sick wave of trepidation.

Slughorn.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and curled himself even smaller into the blankets.

There was another flurry of voices from outside, these softer and more muffled by the shut door and stone walls. Roy preferred it that way, because he didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to face any of this at all. But the argument continued on, climaxing again, drawing louder again to the point where it could not be ignored, and he could no longer hide.

"You said yourself- you told me, he said he hexed Zolf first! If he started this all, then-"

"Whichever one started it, Horace, it is extremely clear which one of them ended it."

There was another brief, unsettled silence. More voice outside, too quiet and indistinct for him to make out from beneath his blanket cocoon, and he wasn't going to withdraw out of it.

"It was _Zolf Kimbley,_ Minerva!" Slughorn burst out, loud and emphatic and so sudden he jumped. "You've seem him, the boy is brilliant! He'd never- then there's Mustang, and you've seen _him,_ he's-"

"A member of _your House,_ Horace! They're _both_ members of _your House!"_

Another short breath of quiet came. This time, not the muffled sounds of voices to soft to be discerned, but a dead silence, both in her office and between the two professors outside of it.

All of it was still too much to bear.

It had been too much since that morning, and it was still too much now.

Roy glanced nervously around the small office again. His gaze this time landed right down on the Calming Draught McGonagall had told him to drink before she'd left, and that he'd left ignored until now.

Before, it had been enough for him to just curl up here and drift in a miserable, fatigued haze.

Now, it wasn't.

Now, he wanted to just be... _gone._

* * *

Not even five minutes later, the vial was empty, downed in one single gulp, and, curled up and still shivering into the corner of the couch, was at last deeply asleep.

His professors continued on arguing outside, but this time, he heard none of it.

Instead, he dreamed restlessly of home.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!!!
> 
> As you can see, the chapter count just went up from 14 to 15. Like I said last chapter, I ended up splitting McGonagall's chapter in two, and I couldn't figure out how to include the stuff that happens next in this chapter, so... 15 chapters, now. However! Now McGonagall has said her piece, and Maes is on his way back in. I promise, right away next chapter! 
> 
> Jeez, I didn't realize how terrible and sad this fic was for baby Roy until I ended up writing it ;-; I want some fluff now...
> 
> Enjoy!

When Roy at last woke up again, sore, dazed, and exhausted, but all a little less so than before, he found himself so limply shellshocked he couldn't manage anything beyond just blinking into the silence, and staring blankly into space.

He felt... okay.

His hands and face still ached gently, but it was such a muffled, small pain compared with before that it was barely noticeable at all. He still felt weird, the memory of old upset squirming on in his stomach, but it was old, now, no longer the sick emotion that had him overwhelmed and trembling.

He now felt, bundled thickly into a blanket and curled up so tightly not even a toe escaped from it, actually warm. Actually _safe._

He blinked several times again, staring dazedly into the empty office before him.

It felt like he'd been asleep for a long time. Long enough for him to be able to be calm, now; long enough that he was too groggy to feel embarrassed or upset anymore. There weren't any windows or a clock in here, not that he could see, but it just felt like he'd been lying here a very long time.

He hesitantly rubbed at his face again, and made very sure not to look at the hand that had been bleeding last night.

He knew McGonagall had fixed it, but he just didn't want to see it.

Speaking of McGonagall, actually, she was now nowhere in sight. He couldn't hear her arguing with Slughorn anymore, either. The office was quite empty, save for himself, and it took him a few moments more of just lying there languidly to at last, with one cold, violent shudder, cling to the blanket and push himself upright.

The plate of biscuits was still there. The vial that had previously held the Calming Draught was now gone, in its place a glass of water he imagined was charmed to never run dry. The book open to the Sticking Charm was still there as well, but this, Roy could only pay enough mind to memorize the title to find it later before he looked away. He just couldn't make himself learn another spell right now, sit here alone and wave his wand through the stupid motions until something finally clicked.

It wouldn't matter if he learned it, anyway. When Kimbley found out, he'd just switch to something else, instead.

His continued examination of the office, however, soon revealed other changes.

There was a folded set of robes at the end of the couch, one that he could see even from here were his, from the hint of green and the size. There was no accompanying note or explanation, just them simply sitting there in an innocuous lump, and for several seconds, Roy had no idea what to think at all. Had McGonagall gotten them? He'd never once seen a professor in their common room, not even Slughorn...

Had to have been the house-elves, he realized at last. The house-elves that Maes had told him about, because if Maes hadn't told him, he never would've known they existed. He knew they cleaned the common rooms in the same way... how messes or clutter would quietly organize themselves in the night when he doubted classmates like Malfoy or Black had ever had to clean up after themselves in their lives.

In all their late night secret adventures throughout the castle, he imagined it was just his luck that a house-elf hadn't found him yesterday before Kimbley had come back.

Shaking his head vigorously, Roy cast those thoughts aside, simply because he was just sick and tired of feeling miserable for himself, and pushed himself a little straighter. His own robes were still a wreck... dusty and stained with his own blood, and no matter who was responsible for the change of clothes, he was grateful for it. He quickly made short work of changing, doing his best to just ignore the blood and dirt and folding his old shirt into the tiniest ball he could. It didn't take long for him to just give up on straightening out his hair out all together.

His tie, however, was a different story.

There was no mirror in McGonagall's office, but that wasn't the problem, he realized, as he started to tug the ends straight. His hand still hurt. Even with the worst of the wound magicked away into nothing it still felt shaky and numb, and when he reached to try and knot it felt like his fingers were wading through wet cement. They trembled against the cotton, wavering as he tried numbly to knot it, then clenching when it fell right through his ineffectual fingers as limply as a wet rag.

A hollow pit of despair and self-loathing started to form in his stomach, and his fingers wavered again.

He tried a second time. This time harder than before, jerking on the tie, trying to all but force his hurt hand to do the right thing.

This time, his efforts were so vehement and aggressive his tie nearly ended up on the floor.

It did not, however, end up anywhere close to a knot.

Roy closed his eyes tightly, breaths unsteady now, shuddering deep in his chest. For several moments he couldn't do anything at all bu just stand there and let his head thump against the cold, stone wall, waves of hopelessness swallowing him up one after the other until he'd drowned in them.

Then, with one last miserable, shaking wheeze, all the way down to his toes and back, Roy straightened the rest of himself as best he could, and headed back for the door.

He didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't know where he was going to go- everything in him still screamed against returning back to his common room ever again, and there was a part of him that wasn't all that small that just wanted to go sit at the station to wait for the next train home.

His hopeless, humorless musing, however, were wrenched right off the tracks when he stepped out from McGonagall's office into one of the Transfiguration classrooms- and found his professor waiting for him.

Roy froze.

McGonagall glanced up from her desk at him, midway through scribbling something down, her eyes stern yet her face impassive. The quill didn't stop just because her attention had been distracted and Roy remained all but paralyzed in the doorway, but she was merely quiet, just watching him until she'd finished whatever line or sentence she was writing, then set down her quill, and offered him a small smile. "Good afternoon," she greeted, straightening up the papers on her desk. "Sleep well?"

Roy hesitated in the doorway again, glancing about the deserted classroom before dropping his eyes back down to her desk, staring more at the corner of the wood than actually at his professor. He'd really been hoping she wouldn't be here. He'd really, _really_ been hoping for the chance to just slink away to the Quidditch pitch in silence without an interrogation.

And he really, really, really did _not_ want to do _this_.

"...Okay," he mumbled, still averting his eyes, shivering under the attention. "I- what time is it?"

He could just glimpse McGonagall smile slightly again. "Afternoon," she said again. "I believe your last class of the day just ended a few minutes ago. Not to worry, though... Professors Binns, Sprout, and Flitwick were informed you'd be absent."

Roy lingered back for another moment more, swallowing the tightness in his throat. Well, that was... something, at least. "Thanks," he mumbled again, shifting from foot to foot, focus still zeroed in on a particular corner of her desk and nothing more.

Another few moments dragged on in dreadful, uncomfortable silence.

Then, with a heavy, abrupt sigh, McGonagall rose to her feet, moving around the desk with an aura of assuredness that almost made him flinch. "Have a seat, Mr. Mustang," she told him, and he really had no choice but to comply.

McGonagall joined him around on the other side of her desk, kneeling down a little before him to reach down and gently begin to knot his tie for him. He flinched again, a new flush warming his face, but his professor remained impassive and calm, gaze down on his tie with nothing close to judgment, and it didn't even hurt when she at last tugged the knot tightly into place. "You'll also be allowed a day or two of extensions for class, for your hand. I can't speak for your other professors, but I'll expect your homework finished by Monday, Mr. Mustang."

This time, he almost- _almost-_ laughed aloud. Which was rather sad, because it wasn't funny in the slightest. Instead of allowing himself a weak, self-deprecating smile, he just forced his head into another nod, gaze still flickering nervously around his knees, and said nothing at all.

McGonagall went silent.

There was nothing, at first. One final, gentle tug on his tie, as if to assure it was tight, then, quiet still, as she rose again to walk back around, settling on the other side of her desk with a weary sigh. It was clear she had something more to say, and Roy was left to simply sit there in the thick silence and wait for her to say it.

It would've been more embarrassing, if last night hadn't already shattered that scale and left him so worn he couldn't even care any more at all.

"As you are a Slytherin," McGonagall started at last, her voice heavy and grave and with a hint of something foreboding that made him pull back again, "and so is Mr. Kimbley, discipline matters such as this are up to your Head of House. It is not up to me." She folded her hands together over her desk, tight-lipped and restrained, somehow, like there was something about this that she wasn't letting herself say. "From what I have understood, Professor Slughorn has now spoken with your classmates. He told me Mr. Kimbley appeared quite contrite and remorseful over all that's happened, and that he really thought it was merely a... joke."

Roy rolled his eyes to himself, keeping his jaw clenched shut. Of course that was what he'd said. Because it _was_ a joke. This whole thing had always been little more than a joke, to Kimbley.

Roy just wasn't in on it.

McGonagall sighed tensely again when he did not speak, voice coming out even more strained than before. "My colleague told me that, because he appeared so remorseful, and because you had hexed him first, he was reluctant to engage with any harsh punishment. He told me that he would be giving Mr. Kimbley a detention this weekend."

At that, Roy barely even had the will to sigh. A detention. Oh. Wow. One single _detention._ Probably sitting in Slughorn's office for an hour or two, many of orders of magnitude shorter than he'd trapped Roy in their room for, probably chatting about his parents or whatever it was they did in the Slug Club that Roy wasn't allowed within a mile of.

He was sure that would really help.

Sure that Kimbley wouldn't take it as a challenge to come at him even worse next time.

Yep.

"...Mr. Mustang, I-"

"Kimbley hurts his cat," he said dully, eyes still dropped down to his lap. "He has a cat. And he hurts it."

"...Excuse me?"

Roy shifted again, sinking a little down into his seat. "I know you said... I already told Professor Slughorn but he didn't believe me. He hurts his cat. I haven't seen him do it but I've seen Snowbell. Or _whatever_ Kimbley calls him." He hesitated, another lump forming in his throat, and swallowed it back down as hard as he could before continuing on. "I... don't know where he is. He wasn't- he wasn't there, yesterday. He's- Kimbley-"

A few moments dragged on silence again, the words stuck and impossible in his throat, because he didn't know what he even wanted to say and certainly didn't know how to say it. His hurt hand shook still, vaguely sick to his stomach and miserable again, and he found himself all but hopeless and definitely not helping.

"I just thought someone should know," he finished at last, small and withdrawn, then lapsed straight back into quiet.

McGonagall went very still across from him. Roy's stomach continued to squirm, and his hand continued to hurt, and his mouth was now dry because he _wanted_ to say more, to convince or persuade or implore _somehow,_ because something had to be done- but he didn't have anything else to say.

He'd told the truth. For the second time, now. And so far McGonagall had been nothing like Slughorn... so far she _had_ actually listened to him, and more than that, _believed_ him, but who knew when that good will would end? Who knew when she'd take a second look at him and suddenly see the loner who dozed in the back of her class and compare him again to Kimbley and change her mind?

If this didn't help this time, he wouldn't bother trying again.

He'd probably just take Snowbell himself. As for what he'd do with him, he still didn't know, but- anything would be better than Kimbley.

"Thank you for telling me that, Mr. Mustang," his professor said at last, voice low and tight again, still peculiarly restrained, somehow, almost too quiet, and Roy just forced himself to nod into the silence.

There was another dreadful, miserable stretch of quiet. Roy curled his arms back around himself, words still thick and caught in his throat, knowing what he wanted to say but still stuck on the part where he had to work up enough inner strength to say it. He could feel McGonagall's eyes on him, still tense, still worried, and somehow, that made it all even harder for him to find his voice and the words.

“Professor?” he asked finally and his voice was so excruciatingly tiny, even to his own ears, that something inside Roy just curled up and died with the shame of it. “Is it... is it possible to switch Houses?”

There was another long moment of silence.

Somehow, even with his eyes planted on his knees, Roy could feel McGonagall’s gaze transform from worried to shocked.

He drew himself back a little more into his seat, hands clenching against his robes, and somehow, even though his skin was crawling, kept himself silence.

“...Have you spoken with your Head of House about this, Mr. Mustang?”

The something inside of him that had already curled up and died somehow only got even bigger, defeat and shame coalescing to weigh him down like a lead ball in his stomach. Of course she would just send him to Slughorn. Why wouldn’t she? He wasn’t a Gryffindor. She wasn’t supposed to help him; she'd already _said_. She had no reason to try. Of course she would just send him off, like she would for any of the other Slytherins. He’d had no right to expect any special treatment at all. “No,” he whispered miserably, slumping back even further. “Professor Slughorn and I... h-he doesn’t...”

He trailed off into nothing and just shook his head, swallowing tightly. He couldn’t tell her the truth. She was a professor; Slughorn was her colleague, her friend- he couldn’t say anything even remotely disparaging about the Potions Master to her. It’d turn her against him even more than she already had to be.

He couldn’t tell her Slughorn only favored the best of them. Those who came from the best families, the best money, the- the _best_ of society. He couldn’t say Slughorn knew who he was, both his parents cast as disgraces and his sisters, prostitutes, his adoptive aunt, even worse. Oh, Slughorn had never _said_ anything to him, but he saw the distasteful way he looked at him. He knew the professor had heard the others taunting; _spawn of blood-traitors, a freak, a Squib._

Slughorn knew. And Slughorn would never, ever give him precedence over the others.

He was just the latest spawn of a house of degenerates. Next to all of the other Slytherins, those that stood there in the beautiful first-hand robes and glossy textbooks and brand new wands, who had been born and raised into purity-

Slughorn wouldn’t give him so much as a second glance.

Yesterday had proven that more than anything else ever could.

“...Professor Slughorn’s been really busy lately,” he mumbled finally, voice even smaller than before, and went silent.

This time, when he finally chanced raising his eyes up enough to look at her, it was to see McGonagall’s then shocked stare had transformed into one of pity.

Shame flooded his cheeks again, and Roy, pressing himself back against his chair, instantly looked back down to his lap again.

After several moments, McGonagall heaved a heavy sigh, saying nothing about Slughorn, saying nothing about the rest of the Slytherins. “I see,” was all she told him, and somehow, the quiet lack of judgement in her voice just hurt even worse.

He still kept silent.

“Well,” she said at last, with a brusque, almost businesslike sort of air, but a note of warmth to it all the same, “in regards to your earlier question, I’m afraid it’s impossible, Mr. Mustang. I’m... sorry, but once you are Sorted, you can not change Houses.”

...Oh.

The last little seed of hope in him, that one last tiny inkling of possibility that had envisioned him living with Riza and Jean next year, or, god, even better, even _safer,_ next to Maes, died.

It was less painful than he might’ve guessed it would be. After all, he’d never really believed there was a chance of that anyway.

The defeat crush of hopelessness weighed him down like an iron weight, all the same.

“Oh,” he said quietly, and swallowed the growing lump in his throat.

...No.

_No._

He _wasn’t_ going to cry.

He wasn’t- Kimbley loved it when he did- but it was pathetic, and he wasn’t, because he was better than that, and, and-

Roy choked back a tiny sniffle as hard as he could, then ducked his head to scrub a fist across his cheek and stubbornly burning eyes.

_And you wonder why Slughorn doesn’t want to help you. Look at you! Look at you! You’re crying in front of a PROFESSOR. What’s wrong with you?! Stop it! Stop it, stop it!_

He pushed back another weak sniff, struggling with all his might to keep silent and still, but by the uncomfortable quiet that dominated the room now, he already knew it didn’t matter. McGonagall had already seen. There was nothing left of his pride left to save.

He couldn’t do this.

“P... Professor McGonagall?” he managed at last, only speaking when he was absolutely certain he could manage it without his voice breaking. He tried to keep his eyes down as well, not wanting to see the pity as she looked at him, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself from tearing his gaze back up as he asked the final question, heart pounding through the cage of anguish and fear in his chest. “Then... then I...”

There was another long moment of silence, and Roy again fought to get himself under control enough to force out the words.

“...I don’t have to come back to Hogwarts after the holidays, do I?”

The look he got in answer was everything he needed to want to just melt into the floor in a ball of ashamed weakness and never be seen again.

The professor, very clearly, understood exactly why he was asking the question.

And Roy sat there, anguish and shame collecting in his chest, eyes surely red and only no longer watering through sheer force of will, his hands trembling even as he clenched them on the chair to make them stop, and waited for her answer.

It was weak, and sad, and pathetic, and he didn’t care. He’d never see Riza or Maes or the others ever again. He’d never even leave home; everybody in Britain knew that if you left Hogwarts, you weren’t going anywhere. He’d stay with his aunt and his sisters forever, and he’d probably never be anything more than a mediocre wizard, and he’d live and die serving drinks to vampires and werewolves and banshees and everything else that the rest of the Slytherins laughed at, because he wasn’t good for anything more.

And Roy was past the point of wanting anything more for himself.

He couldn’t do this for six more years and survive it.

And McGonagall seemed to know that, too, as she looked at him, and in her, he saw nothing else but disappointment.

“No,” she sighed finally, “you don’t. If it is your guardian’s wish that you be educated at home, then you can leave the school, Mr. Mustang.”

And for the first time in weeks, Roy finally knew relief.

A wave so strong it was crushing bowled over him, so powerful he nearly crumpled in on himself to sob in sheer gratitude. He bit his lip and tongue hard and clenched his fists again, keeping himself still, trembling in his seat and locking away the cry of relief that tried to burst forth with all his strength. Relief and shame fought inside him for dominance, shame and weakness fear that he was giving up and running away, but, god, at the same time-

He was just so relieved.

Home. Home.

He could go _home_ again.

Suddenly, he could almost smell it. The enchanted fires downstairs that meant they were open and serving, the sweet stir-fry his aunt made, and all his sisters, each of them, how tightly they’d hugged him the day he’d left for school and how tightly they’d hug him to welcome him back home. How _safe_ it was there. None of them were Slytherins, or Gryffindors, or Ravenclaws, or Hufflepuffs; they were just his family, first, foremost, and only, and they’d never do anything but keep him safe there, and he’d _never_ have to see Kimbley or feel like this ever again.

No matter how much like running away it was, and no matter how much he was going to miss Maes, or how much it would _hurt_ turning his back on this place that was all he’d wanted his whole life- the relief and safety of _home_ beat out it all.

“Thanks, Professor McGonagall,” he managed, choking out the words when he could finally make them steady again, and lurched unsteadily to his feet. He turned his back to quickly rub a hand across his eyes again, trying to regain his composure at least long enough for him to make it back to the Quidditch pitch. Maes... Maes was going to be upset, but- he just couldn’t _do_ anything else. This was all he had anymore. “Thank you, so much- really, I-“

“Mr. Mustang,” she interrupted quietly.

Roy’s shaking legs and numb feet, already carrying him towards the exit, stumbled to a cold halt, and his stomach dropped again.

“I have been at Hogwarts many years, Mr. Mustang. I have seen many first-years who didn’t feel at home here, and, if given the chance to leave, probably would have taken it at the very first opportunity. I’ve also had the privilege of watching many of those students stay, and try their hardest to survive here anyway and create a home for themselves. And, after my many years’ experience, I hope you find it in yourself to simply trust me, when I say that running away now is not what you want to do.” She paused for a long moment, then, amazingly, actually softened a little into a small smile. “After all,” she said gently, “Mr. Hughes and Miss Hawkeye, in particular, seem to have grown quite fond of you. I actually had to threaten Mr. Hughes with detention this morning, to get him to stop asking me what had happened to you." She smiled again, tone warm despite the words, and eyes somehow even warmer than that. "I would hate to see their faces next term when I have to tell them you have declined to return.”

His stomach once again tightened into a cold ball of guilt, and slowly started to sink back down towards his toes.

“...Why should I have to be miserable,” he forced out at last, because this one point, the one glowing point of _goodness_ tipping the scales in Hogwarts’ favor, was the one he had struggled with the most, and he already knew, he _knew_ what he had to say against it now because he’d been caught on it for ages, was _still_ trapped with it, “just to help them be happy?”

McGonagall’s small, soft smile slipped, and again, Roy found himself faced with quiet, disappointed sadness in its wake.

He didn’t like it. It wasn’t fair. Riza and Maes and _all of them_ were wonderful people and he sincerely did want to be happy, and sincerely did feel guilty that his abscence would probably wound them all.

But it wasn’t fair, either, that that should come at the cost of his own misery.

The Hat had put him in Slytherin, after all- not Hufflepuff, with Maes. Slytherins were always said to be selfish, weren’t they? The most selfish House of them all.

If he’d been capable of being a good person, the Hat wouldn’t have sent him here in the first place.

McGonagall sighed deeply. “If that is your answer,” she told him quietly, “then it is unfortunate. Because I think both Hogwarts and Slytherin House are, then, going to lose one fine young man.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Maes! (I haven't forgotten about that platonic cuddling tag!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!
> 
> Enter Maes!!! (again!)

That afternoon, because he simply just did not know what he was supposed to do- what he even _could_ do, otherwise- Roy went back down to the Quidditch pitch.

He figured it was ironic, in a way. The same place where he'd gotten his first bit of hope, at Hogwarts... now, where he was going to end it all.

Well.

Maybe.

If he could work himself up enough to actually tell Maes he wasn't planning on coming back, anyway.

That bit of the conversation still hadn't managed to go over all that well in his head, just yet.

It was bitterly cold when he finally worked his way into the lonely Quidditch pitch, a harsh wind cutting against his face and the snow crunching underfoot even colder than the wind. In a few days, it would be December, and even sooner after that it'd be time for exams, then the holidays, then- Roy didn't know what, because he didn't intend on being here to see it.

Probably it just got a whole lot colder, Roy reflected bitterly, shivering again in the wind as he plodded into the overcast Quidditch pitch. And if that was the case, well, Hogwarts could just keep its winter to itself.

At last arriving to the big, lonely field, he hugged himself still tighter and squinted about, searching the skies almost hesitantly for Maes. He hadn't shown up the past couple of days, and he was already late today... with it already so cold and the flurries in the air, maybe he wouldn't have even bothered coming out today at all. Certainly not stuck around to wait on him... Roy wouldn't have blamed him, either.

Finding nothing in the skies, nothing at all save murky clouds and a few dusty swirls of leaves, Roy hugged himself ever tighter. Shaking his head in a quiet, resigned defeat, he began to just push himself back around, his focus already turning back towards the castle. He'd see Maes eventually. Even if Maes had gotten bored of sticking around waiting on him, he'd be able to find him at some point. That would be enough, for him to tell him goodbye. At least say thank you.

It wasn't as if there was room left for anything more to be said, anyway.

Roy, resignation weighing down on him like a suffocating, iron blanket, knotting in his stomach and constricting right around his heart, had just made it one step back towards the school when the yelling came.

_"ROY!"_

Dragging him around just in time to meet the vaguely intimidating- or, perhaps, just vaguely ridiculous- sight of his Hufflepuff friend, dashing towards him in an unfortunate stumble over the snow, slippery and crunchy all at once, reddened face wide-eyed, and arms stretched out towards him.

Which abruptly turned from amusing to terrifying, when Maes _tried_ to jump at him in a hug, which turned into slipping over his own feet in a panic, pinwheeling and failing desperately to stop, and at last slammed straight into Roy to send them both right into the ground.

The snow crunched beneath him again, so cold it stung, the breath knocked straight out of him in a shocked blow. For several moments, Roy was too stunned to manage anything at all but lay there flat on his back and blink up at the sky.

Wow.

Just-

Just _wow._

"Ahhh... _owwwww..."_ Next to him, Maes rolled about the ground like a sore, ineffectual lump, one hand rubbing at his still red face, the other shaking vigorously out in the air. He looked absolutely sheepish and apologetic and, if Roy was being honest with himself, past his own exasperation- a bit hilarious. "Ow, ow," he moaned again, then blinked down at Roy from a red face with big eyes, a smile that was only half wounded and all the way genuine. "Sorry, that was... didn't really mean to do that..."

It took another moment or two for Roy to get his breath back at all, but once it was there, it was only to ease for him to find a smile of his own to give back to his sheepish, wincing friend. "It's- it's fine," he chuckled weakly, shaking his own stinging hands out, pushing himself into something a little more stable than flat on his back. "I'll live... somehow..."

Maes laughed again himself, but it was short-lived as his face suddenly fell, concern and worry morphing the smile into genuine upset. Squirming still around on the ground, he reached for him, one hand moving to grab at his arm while the other continued shaking vigorously in the air. "Are you okay, Roy?"

 _"Yes,_ Maes, it wasn't that hard a fall-"

"No, not that! I haven't seen you in four days; what _happened_ to you? Roy- you freaked us out, you know that?!" Maes crawled closer still, eyes flashing as he crunched over the snowy ground. "Riza said you ran off out of nowhere and she couldn't find you anywhere... Professor McGonagall nearly yelled at me and wouldn't answer why you weren't even in class! Roy, what happened?! Where've you been?! We were worried about you!"

"Wha... _huh?"_

 _That's_ what this was all about?

With a dazed blink, Roy rubbed at his eyes, trying to ground himself somewhere out of the shellshock of being body-slammed, then interrogated in the next breath, and all by a squirmy friend who seemed to think it was all normal. _Jeez, Maes..._

But- but, from Maes had said... they'd... been _worried_ about him? He remembered McGonagall telling him Maes had been insistent, but looking at his flushed, urgent friend now- he almost couldn't believe it. They'd been actually worried about him. "I'm... sorry," he said numbly at last, still all but limp with the disbelief of it. "I- uh. Family emergency."

Maes tilted his head, staring him even closer now, the concern blooming before in his green eyes in intense scrutiny now translating to the even tighter grip on his hand. "Is everything okay?" he asked again, a little softer but no less worried.

"...yeah," Roy mumbled, looking away. No, it really wasn't, but he didn't want to rehash all that had happened and certainly did not want to spend today with Maes pitying him. He liked Maes because Maes was nice to him. Being with Maes was genuinely fun, because he could be somebody else beyond the loser Squib and Mustang the whole school knew and half of them hated. He could just be _Roy_ and that was enough.

Even if he wasn't planning on sticking around for that much longer, he wanted to at least enjoy the few weeks he had left.

Maes was watching him closer still, eyes narrowed like he didn't quite believe him, so Roy just fixed on his most disarming smile and worked himself to his knees, holding out a hand to help him up. His left, his healing right one folded into his pockets. "Everything's fine, I promise," he told him, standing and hauling Maes up beside him in the very same breath. "I'll tell you about it later. When we're a bit less... covered in snow. And freezing."

At that, at least, Maes had the grace to look abashed, trying and failing pretty miserably to dust himself off. "I told you, that was an accident..."

"Yes, and we still both almost broke a leg."

Maes sighed gruffly, or, at least, he was trying really hard to _sound_ gruff, but at the small, fond smile on his face, he could tell it was all an act. "Whatever," the Hufflepuff laughed, pushing at him even while the concern stayed in his eyes, and it was all Roy could do to smile warmly back.

"What have you been up to, then?" Roy asked, hoping to forcefully and finally change the subject with that alone. If he could just get Maes talking about something, anything else... "I know you didn't spend four days just looking for me."

"Nearly," he huffed. "No, but _nearly."_ This time, Roy figured he was trying to look affronted, and, again, failing pretty badly at it, especially when his expression faded back to sheepish and he rubbed at the back of his snow-dusted hair with a smile. "I, uh, actually have been working on something out here... you know. In between looking for _you._ Next time you disappear, you have to actually tell us, okay?! And, uh.. getting yelled at by McGonagall for looking for you..."

"Uh huh," Roy said back. Inwardly, though, he was almost painfully just _relieved._ Good. Something he could focus on; distract Maes with. The sooner he could get the conversation off where he'd been, the better. "You were working on something, then? Another death defying stunt of stupidity out there?"

"What- no!" With a mock scowl, Maes rolled his eyes, even while that stubborn fondness remained underneath. "No, Madam Hooch was working with me, she showed me this maneuver, I wanted to show you, I- are you sure you're okay, though?" Halfway between walking back towards his things and moving closer towards Roy, the Hufflepuff ventured a concerned hand closer to him, eyes still concerned. "Riza said you ran off, and that was _after_ you were sick..."

Sick? Was _that_ what she was describing it as? Roy almost wanted to laugh aloud, a bitter and cynical one, but inwardly, he really was actually grateful. He'd asked Riza not to tell Maes what had happened, that day she'd found him in the hospital wing, and- she had. Even when things had ended badly, she'd still kept her word for him.

_...Thanks, Riza._

"It's fine," he insisted, as steadily as he could make it. "I promise, okay? Everything's fine. Now- are you going to show me your stupid flying stunt, or are you just going to keep putting it off until I have to think you made the whole thing up?"

This time, Maes' scowl was actually genuine, and he flushed past cheeks already scarlet with cold. "Oh, I'll show you, all right." Giving his robes another violent dust off, Maes swiveled away, kicking through the thick snow to reach back to where he'd left his things, pulling his broomstick up off the ground while leaving the rest of them behind. "Let me warm up first, okay? Maybe practice it a few times... then I'll get your attention." He started to kick a leg over his broomstick, dusting at his shoulders again only to halt before he'd kicked off the ground. "But we'll talk when we go back inside, okay? Okay, Roy?"

...and, there had gone his hope for a distraction.

"Okay," he mumbled half-heartedly back. It was barely more than a dog-like whimper, but it was about all he in him to give to the lie, and it took even more than that for him to somehow wrench his face back into a smile, wait silently for Maes to kick off, and then leave him alone back on the ground.

His hopes to nix Maes finding out about all that had happened slipped, and his smile fell a little harder just after that.

It took him a few seconds to steady himself again, reigning in his emotions to dust his own robes off, trying to calm down and just keep his head on. It was fine. Everything was fine. He was with Maes, and if he told Maes to drop it, he believed that he would. Riza hadn't let him down, and after that...

He'd have to just believe that Maes would do the same.

With another shuddering breath, Roy wrapped his arms back around himself tightly in the bitter cold, turning back towards Maes' things himself in hopes of straightening them up. He wasn't all that surprised Maes had left them piled on down there, his bag and scarf strewn sloppily against the snow alongside another broomstick... such a slob, always, Roy considered fondly, lifting up the scarf to try and beat the slowly melting snow out of it.

He'd gotten his scarf out, and brought another broomstick along out here- for him. Hadn't he? There wasn't any other explanation. Maes had gotten a spare broomstick out and his scarf to loan to him, not because Roy needed it all that much, but just because that was what they always did.

For the first time, something warm softened in his stomach, something that reminded him Maes actually _was_ his friend, and even now, alone on the cold and wet ground, he couldn't resist a slight smile.

"You're a dork, Maes," he muttered, sitting down himself to move closer, wrapping the scarf around his neck even with it cold and more than a bit wet. Maybe it made him colder on the outside, but warmer on the inside, too, and that was all that mattered. "...I'm really going to miss you."

Roy stayed on the ground for another minute, weighing the broomstick in his hands and unsure if he should put it away or not. If he was leaving school, there really wasn't much point in him continuing trying to fly, was there? But it had actually been going pretty well, with Maes... no matter how he'd started this year, so terrified of heights he wouldn't even try to rise a foot up in the air- that wasn't true, anymore. Even if he still hadn't been able to get too high, even if Maes hadn't been able to get him actually half-decent _yet,_ he could still fly, now. He didn't have to, but thanks to Maes, he _could._

He wouldn't have to do it, anymore, but that didn't quite mean he didn't _want_ to.

Roy laughed quietly again, a gentle pressure loosening in his chest with such ease it was almost agony, and something tightened in his throat until he could barely not even breathe. Who would've thought. Roy Mustang, flying. Admitting flying was not the worst thing in the world.

Maes at least could get credit for that much.

And, speaking of Maes...

Was that _Maes,_ shouting for his attention, now? So far away, probably high up, it was just a distant yell, muffled by the space between them and the snow, but that was Maes, all right, the loud Hufflepuff shouting his head off, trying to get him to look. Roy sighed fondly again, rolling his eyes. "Even I know what an Amplifying Charm is, Maes," he muttered to himself, pushing around on the ground to squint upwards, searching for his friend. "Of course you'd prefer to yell at... me..."

There he was, indeed. There was Maes. Barely visible at all down on the ground, squirming about and tiny like an ant, but Roy had followed his shouting, and... there he was. Hanging off one of the Quidditch hoops at the far end of the field, kicking and making an utter spectacle of himself, so much so Roy almost wanted to laugh. _That_ was the trick he'd been wanting to show him? He looked like a complete moron. _Nothing_ about that was cool, in any way. What kind of Quidditch trick was pulled off without even a broom, anyway?

...where, exactly, _was_ his broom?

Roy squinted harder, his amusement starting to fade away now in uncertain confusion. Where was his broomstick? Maes was hanging from the Quidditch hoop with both arms, and kicking about so violently there was no way he could be on a broomstick. It wasn't as if he could hide it around somewhere up there, either. And for some trick he'd claimed Madam Hooch had been teaching him, it certainly didn't look like one. He wasn't exactly the biggest fan of Quidditch, but Roy didn't really get what he could pull off, just swinging around from the hoop... without his broom...

Roy's eyes slowly widened.

_Wait..._

_"Roy!"_ he could just barely make out, a high-pitched, frantic scream over the wind and the distance. _"Roy! Roy! **ROY!"**_

His stomach dropped as if he'd just been punched in the gut.

Maes wasn't yelling for his attention to show off.

Maes was yelling for his attention because he needed _help._

He was stuck.

"No..." he moaned, a hoarse, tiny whimper of a breath.. "Oh, no- no- Maes? _Maes?!"_

_"ROY! HELP ME!_ _**HELP ME!"** _

Oh, god, he was stuck up there. He was _stuck!_ Hanging from the hoop a hundred feet in the air, kicking, screaming, _stuck-_ there was no way he could get down, none at all, oh, god, what if he fell, _what if he- no no no-_ Roy scrambled to his feet with a gasp, starting towards Maes half at a useless sprint, then skidded back, rooted in place and all but frozen in horror. "I- I'm coming! Maes, I'm coming, I promise! I'll get help, just hang on! _Hang on, Maes!"_

But his friend just kept kicking and screaming; that was what it was, now, he could see it plain as day, and his terror was infectious and plowed down straight to his soul. Maes was utterly helpless up there, with no way up and no way down, stuck to just hang there and wait for someone to save him, and Roy turned again, desperately starting off this way and that- but they were alone. _Alone._ There was no one else out there but him. He wanted to run back, find Madam Hooch- god, _anyone-_ but the castle was near a mile away and if he left Maes alone-

_No, no, oh, god, no- Maes- Maes-_

Getting anyone else was too long, too risky, too dangerous _._ Maes' grip would not hold out and he would drop and there was nothing Roy could to do to cushion that hundred foot fall. He was flailing and Roy was terrified and there was nobody to fix it, just Roy _alone_ there on the ground in this massive, empty pitch, gasping and shellshocked, and Maes- _up there-_

And Roy was the only one who could help him.

And Roy was stuck uselessly down there on the ground, a hundred feet down with Maes still kicking up in the air-

And the only way for him to get to Maes was the same way that Maes had gotten up there in the first place.

Roy's racing heart careened to a nauseated, terrified stop.

The only way up there was to do what Maes had taught him.

The only way up there was to _fly._

He stared down at his waiting broomstick, limp, well-used, and nearly pathetic against the snow. Heart hammering desperately in his chest, he whipped back around to stare at Maes.

There was no other option, and more than that- he was out of time.

Roy sucked in a trembling, crumbling breath, snatched his broomstick up off the ground, and took off.

And for the very first time, he kept flying.

He rose up off the ground, the same way he had with Maes every time before, but this time, he kept on rising. The ground vanished beneath him, so fast his head spun and the broom jerked under his hands, all but bucking him back to the ground in his panic, but Maes was still screaming and Roy held on for all that he was worth.

_You can do this, you can do this, you can do this..._

His stomach lurched violently, hands cold and clammy and sweaty against the rough splinters of the broomstick, but he could do it. He could do it because Maes had taught him how. Roy forced his broomstick up ever higher, and when the sight of the ever dwindling ground made his insides lurch again he just wrenched his gaze back up to Maes and didn't let himself look down. That was it, just couldn't look down, that was all, just had to focus on Maes, Maes was all that mattered, Maes needed help and if he could just get up there- _oh god it's so high- it's so HIGH-_

The race higher was a jilted, unsteady mess, and when he got to Maes he was wheezing and near choking on his own panic, dizzy and terrified but he was _there_ and that was all that mattered. Whatever it was that Maes had done had left him clinging to the hoop, hands slipping and sliding desperately along the surely ice cold metal while he'd latched the rest of himself around the pole like a koala bear, legs locked around it and stomach pressed to it, the blood drained from his face and terror lit like a fire in his eyes. Roy got the feeling pretty well himself, by this point, but was too terrified to sympathize as he jerked the broomstick forward again, one hand jerking out towards Maes only to jolt right back. Too high, too high, _too high, can't let go can't let go can'tletgo_

"Maes!" he cried, or maybe it was a gasp, maybe it was a sob; he had no idea and didn't care. "Maes, I'm here, it's me- it's me- Maes-"

The Hufflepuff let out something that approximated a strangled sob of his own, not words at all but the panic in his eyes said everything his voice failed at. He shook his head frantically, all the flailing he could do with the rest of him locked so tightly around the hoop it was like Kimbley had stuck him to it with that stupid charm, and Roy had no choice but to fly as close as he could get and just hang on.

"Maes, come on! _Please_ , Maes!" He wrenched the broom closer, barely able to control it enough to manage but if he could just get near enough- "Maes," he begged, "just- just get on the broomstick, Maes, please-"

But Maes shook his head again, hugging himself to the pole ever tighter, and once again Roy found himself reaching out to him only to jerk his hand back at the heart-stopping _terror_ of prying even one single finger off his only stability. "Maes, get on, please, it's the only way, just get on- _get on it, Maes, GET ON IT!"_ And how he was almost screaming himself, hoarse and wheezing and choking but he just _didn't care._ "Get on the broomstick, Maes, I swear- get on the damn broomstick, get on it now, we are a hundred feet in the air and about to die just _get on the broomstick, please get on it, get on it now-"_

And at last, god, _at long last_ his friend started to pry himself away from the Quidditch hoop. Finger by finger, limb by limb, wheezing hoarse and sick into the frigid air and paler than the snow all around them, but Roy was close enough for the Hufflepuff to manage one leg around the broomstick, then one hand, then the rest of him all at once, collapsing in front of Roy into his arms with a moaned whimper so desperate it was terrifying. The added weight sunk in his stomach and made them drop, an immediate and uncontrollable fall and he _screamed_ and he wasn't alone- but Maes had taught him how to fly and if Maes could carry him on a broomstick, then _he_ could carry _Maes._

_You can do this, you can do this, you can do this..._

The very instant he could Roy started to bring them down. Or tried to, at least; he'd never had to actually fly _down_ before and the descent was jerky, stilted, uncertain, and oh god now he was looking _down,_ he could see the field below them such a distance away it made him dizzy and weak, _don't look down, don't look down, don't look down..._

The broom shuddered and fought him, probably because he had no idea what he was doing and kept trying to shut his eyes, turn his head away, _something,_ but there was only one direction for him to go and even for all his flailing he couldn't screw that up. The cold air tumbled around them and they sunk faster still, the stadium blurring past as he threw safety and control to the winds, and just rocketed as fast as he could towards the snow-padded ground.

Their rough slip, fall, and collapse when they had finally close enough to bear it was as heartstopping as Roy already was terrified. The stinging snow collapsed all around them, barely cushioning the fall as he slamming stomach first and cried out against the ice but it was _safe,_ he had his own two feet back down on actual solid ground once again and even lying there shaking, gasping, near wheezing, he had never felt so blessedly safe in his whole entire life.

Safe.

_Safe._

They were both _safe._

For a long stretch of time, Roy just couldn't comprehend anything more than that. He lay there splayed out on his stomach, wheezing into the snow and trembling so badly it was a wonder he'd held onto the broomstick at all. It felt like he'd just taken a free-fall nosedive off the astronomy tower, head still dizzy and spinning and heavy with weightlessness, the world still hollow under his feet, heart hammering off in his ears because oh god he could've _died-_

_MAES could have died-_

_Maes-_

Some part of him finally expanded beyond himself enough to recognize Maes, too. Maes collapsed in the snow alongside him. Maes gasping, high-pitched and cracking, nearly whining like a distraught puppy. Maes trembling just as badly as he was out of the corner on of his eye, facedown and clutching at the snow as his only lifeline, and for several panicked heartbeats he couldn't grasp anything at all beyond the spinning dizziness in his head and the emptiness beneath his feet.

Then, like a slow, creeping molasses of mud, the horror of what he'd just done at last caught up to him, crawling over him from head to toe, and for a sick heartbeat, he couldn't manage anything beyond just trying not to lose his mind.

Maes could have died. _They_ could have died. They could've- a hundred feet up in the air- that death trap of a broomstick, that, that _stupid lunatic idiot_ of a friend-

He-

_"You IDIOT!"_

Maes flinched badly again. Tensing and withdrawing, face almost green and eyes wide as saucers, dusted all over in snow as he rolled back to stare. He looked startled, still terrified himself, all but utterly lost down there on the ground, but Roy, now up on his feet even if he couldn't remember standing at all, found himself too stricken to care.

He was done.

He just-

He was done.

_"What were you thinking?! You could've died! You stupid, brain dead, irrecoverable idiot! WE COULD'VE DIED!"_

Maes spluttered uselessly, gobsmacked on the ground, but Roy just couldn't stop himself. His legs felt like shaking jelly underneath him, stomach wrenched into a knot, so mad he was spitting fire and didn't know why and didn't care. "What's wrong with you, Maes?! You _moron!_ You stupid- _you stupid-_ why would you do so something so stupid?! What were you thinking?! We could've died! You idiot, we could've fallen, w-we could've- _you stupid- I hate you, Maes! You could've killed us! Get away from me! I- I- I HATE YOU!"_

Maes whimpered something again, a cross between apologetic and stricken, looking almost hurt now, but Roy couldn't stop himself. It was like every piece of terror and sick seed of rage weeding through him through every last day at this terrible school had hit the surface all at once and Maes was the only one there to take it, Maes who had just nearly gotten them both killed, Maes who had made him _fly,_ Maes who had been nice to him, Maes who had done so much for him, Maes who had- had-

And now he was just screaming to himself in an empty field, shouting his head off at his first and closest friend.

Slowly, sanity, sensibility, _something_ drifted back down to his throbbing head. The hot rage pulsing in him began to morph small and leave him empty without it, hollow, and for a split second, it felt like his entire world had re-oriented with a snap and he saw himself and Maes as it really was.

Maes, small, trembling, and shocked down on the ground, and Roy screaming at him for it.

There was a dreadful stretch of silence, Roy panting and heart pounding, all but feral with horror, and paralyzed to stare down at his closest friend. For a sick heartbeat, he couldn't do anything at all, and all he knew was that he felt as terrible a person as Kimbley.

Then, something agonizing snapped, and the horror flooding through him morphed straight into guilt instead.

He turned, and he ran away from Maes as fast as he could.

* * *

It took a long time after that for Roy to calm down.

Or, more accurately- he assumed it would have.

Because he never managed to calm down at all.

It was late and cold and getting colder. He couldn't breathe and felt like he was about to get sick and worth no more than two inches tall, hammered and broken and too crumbled apart to ever glue the pieces back together again. His head spun and his stomach knotted as if he was still a hundred feet in the air.

And all he could see was Maes, trembling on the ground, staring up at him with a wounded look of sheer, unadulterated hurt, that was _one hundred percent his fault._

Everything was shattered apart, and he deserved it, and it was now just too much for him to care.

He found somewhere outside and alone, which was all he wanted, because he couldn't face anyone else right now and if that meant sitting in one of the courtyards until he froze to death he'd take it. He hugged himself and doubled over and breathlessly near sobbed, hiccuping to himself over and over again as his shaking hands dug through his things, scrabbling for parchment without regard for the pain in his fingers or wounds in his palm. The rough broomstick had opened them up again, gently slicking his skin with blood that he didn't even see until the parchment was out and smeared with red, but that, too, was simply beyond the realm of things that mattered to him.

 _Aunt Chris,_ he scribbled, desperate and sloppy and now smeared with red too, but it was halfway legible, so he kept going.

_I'm coming home. I'm leaving Hogwarts. ~~I can't~~ ~~I don't~~ ~~I need to~~ _

_I can't stay here anymore and I need to come home. I'm sorry. I know you wanted me to do this but I can't. Please come get me._

_I'm sorry_

~~_Roy Mustang_ ~~

_Roy_

The letter came out sloppy, barely readable, and stained with enough blood it it would probably terrify her. But she'd be able to read it, and it was clear enough for her to understand what he needed, and that meant it was good enough. Panting still past clenched teeth, he flattened the letter against the wet, still faintly snowy surface of the bench and folded it in a haphazard mess, water soaking through to join the blood stains but his head was still dizzy and spun and he still felt like he was flying and it wasn't in him to do it better.

He didn't care anymore.

He'd...

_You told your best friend you hated him._

Roy lurched desperately on the bench, the whole world around him spinning in a dizzy blur even with his own two feet still solid on the ground, and for several moments was so sick with himself he almost wanted to scream.

_Again._

He didn't know why he'd said it. It wasn't even close to true; Maes had been the only bright spot in this whole stupid tunnel. Maes had been _all he'd had._ But he'd been staring down at him and Maes had been silent and meek and it had just- just _come out._ He'd been angry and scared and half of him still felt like he was trapped in his room with Kimbley not even a full day ago yet and he'd been wanting to scream for months and Maes had been there and-

And it had just _come out._

He'd told his best friend he hated him and whether it had been true or not, Maes now certainly hated him right back. He was now done with him and that was no getting him back. When Riza found out she'd be angry with him too. They all would. He vanished for days and scared them all and finally showed up again only to yell at them and that was it. It'd be the final straw and they'd be done putting up with him and he deserved it and more than that, he did not care. He couldn't do this anymore. It was too much and he was too scared and too angry and now just wanted nothing more than to go home.

He didn't care if it was giving up. He didn't care what Maes would think of him anymore.

He just wanted to go home.

Letter, finished. Feelings, all over the place. Stomach, still knotting, heart, still racing. Panting still through gritted teeth and no matter how deep he tried to breathe, it couldn't shove away the persistent wave of dizziness in his head. Shivering still in the cold loneliness of the courtyard and wanting nothing more than to disappear.

Roy squeezed his eyes shut. He sucked in one more pathetic attempt at a deep breath, shivering and miserable down to his core, and for several moments didn't let himself do anything at all but sit there, feel the snow fall on down at his head, take in the faint sounds of movement around him, and breathe.

He had to keep himself together. He wasn't home yet and until he was, until he was safe again, he could not allow himself to fall apart.

He had to just get through the next couple of days.

Roy sucked in a breath again. He clenched his fists tight no matter the pain that shot through his hurt one, and told himself, over and over again, that he could do this.

That it was all going to be okay if he could just get home.

He opened his eyes.

Zolf Kimbley was right in front of him.

The dizzying world around him wrenched straight to a nauseating, grinding halt.

...no.

Just-

_No._

"Well," his classmate drawled. "Here you are."

There was another sick beat of slow, impossible silence.

Roy's stomach dropped again.

Cold-faced and dark-eyed, and unlike was so common as of late, not smiling. Nor were Lucius and Arcturus behind him. They were entirely alone out here, just the two of them standing in the snowy courtyard with nothing between them and no one around them. None of Kimbley's friends- no one there as a witness. Just Kimbley, there silent and still as a statue and with a look on his face that screamed such danger it made his heart stop.

There he was, and here he was.

Alone.

_...uh oh._

"I finally found you," Kimbley started again, steps slow and precise as he crept forwards, silent like a cat and coiled to strike like a snake. "I've been looking everywhere for you. You know that?"

Roy tensed wordlessly in the frigid air of the courtyard. "No," he said shortly, and did not move. The quaking fear that ate away at him to his core was muffled this time, swallowed up by a white hot, sick expanse of rage that crept through him from head to toe. He felt his wand nudge against his leg, and knew if he had to take it out, he would in an instant.

He'd been pushed miles past his own breaking point. If Kimbley forced his hand and the only way to stop him was to hex him right into his own grave and crack his head open on the icy ground-

He'd do it.

Kimbley advanced a step further over the snow, head tilting to the side and mouth slipping further into that deadly, irritating sort of cold smirk that Roy had grown to know so well. To _fear._ "You want to explain why Professor Slughorn gave me detention this weekend?" he asked, dark eyes narrowing in a glare that pierced him through like a rusted blade. "You want to explain why Professor McGonagall pulled me aside to make me show her my cat, Roy?"

"No," he said shortly again, fingers now grappling silently for his wand. _Just give me the reason... give me the reason..._ "I dunno, Kimbley. Maybe if you don't like getting in trouble you should try finding a new hobby."

"You want to tell me why I can't _find_ my cat?!" Kimbley hissed, and now his own hand was was drifting down to his wand, too. "He's been missing ever since yesterday. You think you're funny, baby-Roy? You think you can steal my things then lie about it to Professor McGonagall, is that it?"

"Well, I dunno, _Kimbley,_ maybe if you don't like it you shouldn't have spent four months doing it to me!" Grabbing his own things off the ground in an upheaved pile of snow, Roy pulled them all to his chest with one arm while still gripping at his wand with the other. "I don't even know what you're talking about in the first place. Maybe go ask one of your pathetic lapdogs if they had something to do with it, because it wasn't _me,"_ he spat, starting to stalk away only for Kimbley to swing around and cut his path off from the very start. "You have something else you want to ask me?!"

The Slytherin's eyes narrowed again, this time in an almost confusion. His mouth, already open to snap back a retort, slowly closed, and the open hostility etched into face softened into a gentler, decidedly less threatening uncertainty. "...well," he murmured at length, voice slipping into that irritating, slippery sort of drawl he tended to use when he thought he'd found a particularly funny joke. A joke that was perfectly hilarious to Lucius and Arcturus and half their House, but never once funny to _him._ "Sounds like baby-Roy has found himself a spine. I don't know... seems as if _you_ have something you want to say to me, huh?"

Roy scoffed under his breath, again trying to move storm past him, then jerk around and head off the other way instead, but Kimbley blocked him both times. And he was too close, too smug, too sickeningly _proud of himself_ and Roy had already snapped once today and really didn't have it in himself to stop it from happening a second time. "You know what, Kimbley?!" He shoved back with one hand, pushing as hard as he could and whipping his wand out with the other because god help him he'd use it if he had to and not regret it. "You want me to say something? Okay. Okay, Kimbley- _you win._ Okay?! I'm leaving Hogwarts! I'm going home and I'm not coming back. _You win!"_ He shoved back once, and then to see him stumble and gape was so _good_ he shoved him again, pushing as hard as he could to make him stumble and almost fall over the snow and it was the best thing he had seen all _year. "_ Happy now?! I'm going home and then you're never going to see me again. You and your friends will have the whole room to yourselves like you always wanted because I'm not coming back. You think my aunt is so bad and I'd rather spend the rest of my life with her than one more second with you." He shoved his wand into his face, driving him back step by step and the look on his face was everything he had ever wanted and more. "So there you go, Kimbley. You finally got what you wanted. This what you wanted, huh?! You all hate me this much- _then fine! I'll go!_ If you want me gone- _I'm gone!_ You'll never have to deal with someone as horrible as me again! So you know what I want to know? _You know what I really want to know?!"_

The pale Slytherin remained dead silent now, pale and shocked across from him as Roy advanced onwards again, driving his wand harder into his chest and forcing him back because he was _done_ sitting down to let him torment him. He was _done_ being weak and he was _done_ being his goddamn victim. "You know what I want to know?" he hissed again, wand trembling against his chest and if he made him- god if he made him, he'd curse him and enjoy every second of it. "What did I _ever_ do to you?"

Kimbley tilted his head again, uncertainty darkening in his eyes but he had the sickening gall to look _innocent_ and that alone dragged the rest of his blind rage out before he could even try to stop himself. "I know who my parents were," he snapped. His voice cracked through it and so he snapped it again. "I know what they did to half the Slytherins in this school. I looked up their names, their families, what happened to them. I _know._ I know why Lucius and Arcturus hate me. I know what the Mustangs did to the Malfoys, the Blacks. But you know what I could never figure out?" He stepped forward again, forcing them deeper into the courtyard for the two of them standing alone and vulnerable in the center of the cold, wet snow, and there was nothing left anymore but just Kimbley and the rage that had been building for months until it had boiled straight over.

"What I did to _you._ Why _you_ hate me."

Kimbley stared silently back at him, the space between them dead quiet and suffocatingly still, and in that one terrible moment, Roy wanted to see him beaten and bleeding on the ground.

"I couldn't find your name in any single one of the books," he hissed on. "Your mum's a Muggle and your dad was some no-name reporter writing food reviews during the war. We did nothing to you! You had nothing to do with us and we had nothing to do with you- so what did I do to you, Kimbley?! What did I _ever_ do to you to get you to hate me _so much?!"_

Kimbley tensed again, drawn back now and curled as if ready to spring, or expecting Roy to spring first and just waiting to force him back. He was still disgustingly implacable and unreadable, his face smooth like stone to the point it was infuriating, but Roy could see the gears turning in his eyes and the terrible silence between them stretched only on as Roy was left helpless but to just wait for his answer.

What had he _ever done_ to get Kimbley to hate him?

The change across Kimbley's face was slow, at first. A subtle lightning in his eyes and lack of tension in his jaw. But when it compounded together, all melting together to form the slightest, softest little _smile_ , something hard and cold coalesced in Roy's stomach, and he knew, he _knew-_ that this was not going to end well.

"Nothing," Kimbley simply said, then went quiet. He smiled again.

Roy stared blankly.

_...huh?_

Kimbley spread his hands, smiling bigger now, that smug aura of superiority that clung to him like a second skin now all but radiating from him in waves. "Nothing," he said again. "I picked you, baby-Roy, because you were an easy target. That's all."

Roy gaped silently at him again.

"W... _what?"_

And Kimbley's cold smirk just slipped even bigger.

"You never did anything to me at all," he repeated. "But I have a very good memory, baby-Roy. I remember everything I've ever read and everything anybody has ever told me. So I remember the war, baby-Roy. We were just four when it ended but I remember it, and you know what else? I remember my dad talking about what the Mustangs did to end it. I remember him talking about how Aurora Mustang killed her husband then killed herself and left their baby son behind." His smile grew again, sickeningly and slippery and so proud of himself it all but stopped his heart.

"I knew who you were, Roy," he said quietly, "since the very moment they said your name when we were Sorted." He smirked a little, hand tightening around his wand again, and this time, Roy was too stunned to lift his own wand in defense. "I also knew what the Mustangs did to half the others in Slytherin House, and I looked at you, and decided you would be my easiest target. ...if you really want to know, baby-Roy?" He chuckled again, a startling mix between cold and hysterical and unhinged all the way through, and his smile was so cruel it was blinding. "I was eying Scar, before I heard your name. He could've been a lot of fun... but when I saw what the rest of our House thought of the Mustang spawn winding up alongside us?" He grinned again, and his sick, proud amusement spread. "I knew I could hurt you more than I could ever hurt Scar."

There was another stricken breath of silence. Roy remained paralyzed there, frozen on his own numb feet and gaping at the boy across from him like a fish on land.

And with that, Kimbley, pale as the snow around them and so smug it was sick, smirked. "Speaking of which," he said calmly. "If you're planning on running away back home like a baby... I really ought to get on finishing what I started."

He lifted up his wand again.

* * *

When Maes' frantic, sloppy sprint finally carried him back to the castle, panting, sweating, and with a stitch in his side that hurt so badly it felt as if he was about to split in two, he did not have to look very far, to find his best friend.

He wished that he had.

Because when he reached the school, rather than have to instantly throw himself on what was sure to be a long and fruitless search for Roy, he instead immediately heard one terrible, heart-stopping thing.

Roy.

Screaming.

An earsplitting, bloodcurdling, terrified shriek, one that was one hundred percent his best friend- and one thousand percent something that froze him in his tracks, sent chills down his spine, and a constricted a vise around his heart.

That was Roy, all right.

And in the minuscule head start his best friend had on him, it was already devastatingly clear that something had gone very badly _wrong._

Maes took off running again without a second thought.

He sprinted down through the winding corridors, hurtling past dead ends and curious portraits, shoving past other searching students in a blind panic. Where was he, where was he?! Was he okay?! Well, _no,_ he obviously wasn't, by that look on his face when they'd crash landed he hadn't been okay ever since the Quidditch pitch, but-- _Roy, Roy, god, where are you, Roy?!_

The shrieking continued on and Maes followed both it and the growing crowd, worming his way through students older and bigger than him with his heart squeezed somewhere around his throat. Up ahead he just glimpsed a snow-covered courtyard and a thickening throng of students around it, and Maes shoved through, pushing past people twice his size without regard because he could hear his best friend screaming and that was all that mattered to him.

And when he finally broke through to the front of the crowd, the sight waiting for him ground him straight to a nauseating halt, and sent his heart plummeting straight down to his toes in a wave of cold, breathless horror.

A loose ring of students had formed in the cold courtyard, many older than him, many of them Slytherins. Many of them looking as if they'd crossed the line between amused and no longer finding the joke funny some time ago, and all of them silent, two other first years in particular that Maes recognized as people Roy had reluctantly mattered about in the past who were white-faced and speechless.

And they were all transfixed on the two students in the center.

Zolf Kimbley, another Slytherin that he'd heard Roy mutter about, his wand out, and with a look of abject glee on his face like a child playing with a new toy.

And hoisted up into the air before him, five feet up, upside down, and wailing with all his might, was Roy.

Maes' self restraint shattered.

 _"W-what-"_ he rasped, numb, almost limp with shock, numbness flooding through him like a wave that left him paralyzed and breathless. He looked at Kimbley, then Roy, Kimbley, then Roy, gasping and nearly sick, and for a horrified heartbeat was too shocked to do anything at all.

Then, before he'd even realized he was doing it, his own wand was out, and he was facing off against him, and if it hadn't been for Roy's state, he would've tackled him straight into the stupid ground.

"What are you _doing?!"_ he screamed, just as loud as Roy and so infuriated he saw blood-red. "Let him down! He's scared of heights, _let him down!"_

But Kimbley just laughed, a burst of cracking amusement against the backdrop of Roy's screaming. His gleeful smile stretched even bigger and he kept on bobbing his wand up and down, waving the Slytherin around like he was just a ball to toss and catch and when Roy flung his arms out, flailing to grab himself onto something, _anything,_ Kimbley just dragged him out further into the air so he couldn't even scrape his fingertips against the tree. "I know he is!" he laughed, beaming and playing like a small child. "Isn't it great?!"

"What- you _know?!_ What are you- _you're scaring him, Kimbley! Stop!"_ Maes spun frantically towards Roy, lifting his own wand up towards him then stopped in a stilted, jerky terror. He didn't trust himself enough to try and get him down on his own, not with Kimbley fighting him, not with Roy flailing and kicking and he just _wouldn't stop screaming-_ what if he dropped him?! What if he hurt him?! Roy-

Gasping still, Maes threw himself forward, wrenching his way to the center of the crowd to try and physically grab at Roy for himself. He stretched up, jumping off the ground for his hands, but Roy was too high up and at his efforts Kimbley just dragged him on even higher. He was sobbing now, sobbing and wailing with wild eyes and face crimson red, so obviously scared out of his mind- why wasn't anyone helping him?! Why wasn't anyone _stopping this?!_

He spun around again, looking past Kimbley now to the rest of the crowd in a desperate search for help. And Kimbley might have been the only one laughing, but, to Maes' horror, he was also the only one doing _anything at all_. There were some others whispering to each other, radiating discomfort and unease, and still a few of the older others shifting uncomfortably, their wands half out, but no one was moving to actually stop this. They were all just standing there and- _watching._

They didn't care. They weren't even _trying_ to help.

_"-LET ME DOWN LET ME DOWN LET ME DOWN-"_

_"Someone help him!"_ Maes shouted, taking his wand off Kimbley instead to stare around at the useless, gathered crowd, all but stamping his foot in the snow to beg for help. "Someone do _something! STOP HIM!"_

There was some more shifting in the crowd, a few older students with their wands wavering between Kimbley and Roy, but none of them actually moved to help and that left them worse than useless. Cursing under his breath, Maes spun back around to stretch up for his terrified friend as high as he could, but he couldn't even come close to reaching him and was even farther away from saving him.

Roy had just saved him not even twenty minutes ago, and now Maes couldn't do the same for him.

In Maes' desperate staring around the crowd, he was one of the first to see as the other two boys that Roy knew hesitantly approached Kimbley. What had Roy called them- Malfoy? Black? Whoever they were, his roommates, he saw as they crept on forward uncertainly, reluctance and unease radiating off them in waves as the first one reached forward, tugging a little on Kimbley's sleeve. "Hey, um, Kimbley?" he ventured, voice small, almost nothing underneath Roy's desperate screaming for help. "Kimbley, maybe we should- should stop? I don't know, he seems really- like- I think something's wrong with h-"

_"Excuse me?"_

"I... I just meant-"

"Meant what, Black?" Kimbley half-turned, wand still up trained on Roy but his focus now on the boy beside him, and the look in his eyes was so dangerous it made Maes' stomach lurch and he wasn't even the target of it. "You think you can tell me what to do? You think you know better than me?!"

"I only- thought-"

_Smack!_

This time, Maes wasn't the only one to gape in astonishment, and this time, as Arcturus Black flinched back against his friend, one hand holding his cheek and the other limp with shock by his side, Kimbley was the only one to smile.

"That's what _I_ thought," Kimbley snarled back, then twisted around to refocus entirely on Roy, and jerked his struggling friend a foot higher with yet another wicked smile.

_"What is going on here?!"_

Finally, everything ground itself straight to a sickening halt.

Professor McGonagall swept through the crowd as a woman on a war path, parting her way straight through the silent students like a bulldozer and Olivier Armstrong by her side, with such a severe, dangerous look on her face it grounded Maes to the spot. She stared up at Roy, stared down at Kimbley, and at the sight of him every last drop of confusion sizzled away into horrified disbelief in one fell swoop. Her face paled, and her eyes blazed.

"Pro- Professor-" Kimbley stammered, drawing back with that gleeful beaming grin on his face transformed into the picture of innocence in a splitsecond of lies. "Professor, I-"

"Save your breath." McGonagall pushed forward and unlike Maes, had no hesitation at all leveling her wand on Roy. His flailing and yelling continued, but this did not stop or even slow her down as she overrode Kimbley's spell completely, first gently turning Roy back over to get him rightside-up, then lowering him down in a slow but controlled descent. Out of the corner of his eye Maes glimpsed Kimbley trying to slip back and melt into the crowd, but Olivier caught him by the ear in the same breath as her grabbing the other first years right beside him.

Maes, however, could spare no attention towards them.

He had eyes only for Roy.

It took a second or two, with all his struggling, for McGonagall to lower him safely to the snow. But the instant she finally had him down on solid ground, the screaming finally cut off straight into a breathless halt- and Maes hadn't realized how painful it'd been to hear it until it was finally gone. Just dead silence, suffocating and stifling broken only by the shattered gasp of sheer terror. The kicking and flailing ended a heartbeat later, his best friend's struggles landing on solid ground now instead of air and the shock of it all that was needed to freeze him in place with a high-pitched, broken gasp of a cry. He hit the ground in a puddle of snow-dusted robes and a frozen, trembling lump, silent and curled and so obviously _scared_ Maes couldn't bear it.

Slowly, jerkily, like a startled rabbit, he padded about, first feeling the ground like he couldn't believe it was real, then twitching to stare upwards with a face still bright red but eyes shocked behind a mess of hair. His eyes grew even bigger when they moved from the solid ground under his feet to lock, instead, on the crowd all around him.

He gasped again. His distraught, already terrified face twisted with an even deeper stab of sheer, genuine anguish.

Then, for the second time in that terrible day, Maes was utterly helpless but to watch as his upset best friend tore himself up off the ground, and ran away from them all as fast as he could.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, this was the final tipping point. I know it's kinda been climaxing up and up with Kimbley does something --> all professors ignore it --> Kimbley does something worse --> still gets ignored for the whole fic, but now it's no longer going to be ignored, and Roy's finally gonna have his situation change. Also platonic cuddling. 
> 
> See you next time!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!!!

_"Roy! Roy, wait, come back- Roy! ROY!"_

"Stop, all of you! _None_ of you are going anywhere- I see you back there, Mr. Finnigan, don't think I don't- Mr. Mustang-"

_"Roy, stop-"_

But the little Slytherin was already gone, elbowing and shoving his way through the crowd like a startled or beaten animal to vanish, too small and too fast to be tracked, and Maes was caught by the collar before he could even take two steps after him himself. "You either, Mr. Hughes, I know you saw what happened," he heard behind him, McGonagall's hand all that was needed to pin him in place but all he could see was the billow of his best friend's robes as he disappeared straight around the corner.

All he could see was the look on his face when he'd hit the ground.

He couldn't leave him to run off alone like that.

"Professor McGonagall, _please,"_ he begged, and his voice came out thick with desperation but he was just too frantic to stop it. He spun around, dislodging her hand and pulling back in the same motion, withdrawing towards Roy even through his friend was long gone. Roy was gone, for now, maybe, but not for long if he could help it, if he could just- "Please, Professor," he begged,"please, I'll tell you whatever you want, I'll come back but just _later,_ Professor, please- _please-"_

McGonagall, her mouth already open to give what he could see on her face alone to be a steady retort in the negative- stopped. Her gaze flitted over her glasses down the corridor in which Roy had disappeared, and for the first time since perhaps he'd ever met her months ago, he saw her actually hesitate.

Then, her gaze turned down towards the rest of the gathered, speechless students, and with it, her eyes darkened. It lingered right on silent, unreadable Kimbley for a moment too long, still with his arm wrenched up and trapped in a painful grip by the Head Girl, lingered there long enough for Maes to see him turn sheepish, and at last break his own gaze away to stare at his feet.

His fists clenched.

If McGonagall hadn't been between them, he would've socked him in the face.

His professor searched gravely between the two of them again. She looked almost painfully reluctant, the regret on her face so clear it was plain as day, and Maes held his breath, preparing to force his way past her if he had to no matter the punishment.

He was not prepared for her to reach a hand down to his shoulder again, turn him around, and give him one little push to send him on his way. "I expect to see one or the both of you in my office sometime tomorrow, Mr. Hughes," she said quietly, leaning down just enough so he was the only one to hear it- and then her back was turned, and the sudden, unfamiliar softness in her eyes was gone. "All of you, with me. _All of you._ If I see so much as one try to slip away it's detention for a week..."

But whatever it was that she'd said next, Maes didn't stick around to hear.

He'd taken off the moment she'd let him.

He hit the corridor panting already, sprinting straight after where he'd seen his friend disappear and all but skidding around the first corner he reached only to sprint on again. Roy must've been fast, because Maes hadn't been held back for all that long but there was already no sign of his friend, just an empty corridor with another fork at the end of it and no one else in sight. No- _no way-_ he was _not_ going to let Roy vanish this time-

"Hey! Hi! Uh- uh, excuse me-" Panting still, Maes dashed up towards the nearest painting that he could find, what looked like two witches from about a thousand years ago gathered around a table drinking tea. "Hi, um, did you see someone else just come by here- like my height, probably upset-"

Both of the witches sniffed at him, looking down their noses as if he was a bothersome fly that was the greatest inconvenience of their lives, or whatever it was they had, sitting in the painting forever. "He went left," one of them said loftily, not bothering to look down at him.

"Nearly tripped over his own feet, he did," her friend agreed. "This _is_ why you're not supposed to run in the- not even going to say thank you?!"

But Maes was already gone, utterly ignoring the two gossiping witches as he took off back down the hallway, not even having one drop of the patience needed to sit there through their longwinded whining. There wasn't time for it and he did not care.

Instead, he just hurtled down the aforementioned corridor as fast as he could, nearly stumbling in his own wet shoes as he took off yet again. It was back down to the Quidditch pitch, he realized, right back down where they'd come from before, the rest of the corridor still deserted and there was not even one sign of Roy, not a single one even as he tore off down the hard flagstones to throw himself to the door back outside.

"Roy?!" he shouted, squinting back into the huge, cold expanse stretching out before him, but there was nothing. _Nothing._ Where- "Roy, are you out here?! _Roy?!"_

Nothing but his own yell echoing back to him came as an answer.

Maes shook his head frantically to himself in the doorway, still clutching onto the side of the castle as he stared out at the massive and _empty_ field before him. There was no sign of Roy- or anyone else, for that matter. If Roy had even come this way at all, he was gone now, and searching out here could take all night...

_Unless..._

Narrowing his eyes, Maes crouched down to the freezing ground, at last letting go of the castle wall so he could get to his knees instead. It was still flurrying a little, so it took him a moment to find his old footprints in the snow, his own footprints from where he'd followed Roy's all the way back to school not even ten minutes ago. They were fading already, but untouched and clear. Roy had not gone that way.

However, the rest of the field before him was _also_ clear. There was enough snow that if Roy had come out this way, he'd be able to follow his footprints- but the only footprints there were their own from before, on their way back to school. He couldn't have come this way.

Maes groaned miserably, shaking his head again in something now approaching despair. Where on earth had he gone, then?! He couldn't let him run off like this, he _had_ to find him, he just had to, but...

With another shaking sigh, Maes hauled his way back inside, slamming the door behind him and dropping to rest his head in his hands. "Come on, Roy, where _are you?!"_ he muttered, glaring up and down the corridor. There were a few other classrooms or- something, he had no idea- down this way...

Well, nothing more to it than to just start looking.

Because if he didn't find Roy, he really thought he'd find himself hunting down Kimbley instead, and considering he was with McGonagall now, Maes doubted beating the ever-loving tar out of him would be all that productive.

Even if he did _really_ still deserve it.

Rubbing a hand across his face again, Maes shoved on down the corridor, searching along the doors. A broom closet that was surely tiny, cramped, and filthy... he _hoped_ not... further on near the corner something he recognized as someone's office, and knowing Roy there was no way he'd sought out somewhere there'd be company...

With yet another desperate, frightened shake of his face, Maes stumbled back up to his feet, forced himself along, and went for the first door he saw. Without even the space to prepare himself, he took in a shaking breath, and threw it open.

_Roy!_

_ROY!_

Maes was so breathlessly relieved he nearly collapsed right there on the spot.

Then so wounded by what he actually saw, he actually did whimper, no matter how hard he'd tried to stop it.

He'd stumbled into what looked like an old, spare classroom, a few chairs scattered about but otherwise empty, dusty, and definitely unused now. And there, folded into the far corner as tight and small as he could make himself, was his best friend.

His knees were pulled up to his chest, arms clutched around them to curl himself into little more than a tiny lump of wet robes and snow-soaked hair. He'd buried his head into cocoon made by his knees, letting him see nothing more than the white slowly melting into his tangled hair like clouds against ash, and pressed there back against the cold stone of the tiny corner to do nothing more than rock back and forth, small and quivering and _sobbing._

Maes wouldn't have recognized him at all, in fact, if not for the fact that he'd buried his face and his hands into a scarf.

 _Maes'_ yellow and black scarf.

His heart cracked.

"R- Roy..."

The little Slytherin jumped back, a tiny, wrenched cry torn out from his throat for his head to jerk straight up like a puppet on a string. His wand came up with it, trembling so badly it aimed at the wall more than Maes but his huge, bloodshot eyes landed right on him, stricken and sick with terror, and when their eyes locked, his face turned so abruptly distraught he couldn't stand it.

For several moments, the both of them stayed there just like that, frozen in place by the sheer shock of it. Roy wheezed on, each inhale a broken gasp and each exhale a splintered sob, face flushed a bright, tear-streaked red and eyes so terrified and betrayed it hurt to see it.

Then his wand clattered emptily to the floor, and the look on his face twisted violently with the pain as if he'd just been stabbed.

"I'm- I'm sorry-" he rasped, and he didn't even know what he was sorry _for_ but it was true. His feet moving almost on their own accord, Maes stumbled forward, the door falling shut behind him so heavily they both jumped, but Roy didn't pull out of his corner and Maes couldn't stop himself from moving closer. "I just wanted- Roy-..."

What was he supposed to do? What could he even say to fix this? Maes fumbled his way closer again, first on shaking legs then to his knees when he got near, the words useless in his throat and stuck. Roy still wasn't talking, barely even moving at all beyond his deep, guttural gasps, but his eyes tracked him as Maes sat beside him, wanting nothing more than to somehow just reach out and fix everything. Just- just say _something_ to his terrified best friend that could make all of this go away.

"Are- are you okay?" he asked last, moving towards him. "I'm so sorry, Roy, I tried to stop him, I couldn't get you down on my-"

Roy made another small, desperate noise, one of denial or perhaps just misery as his hand shot out to grab at his. He shook his head several times, working his jaw frantically only to splutter out little half-words that made no sense at all, face still red and only getting worse as he failed to get out anything comprehensible at all.

By this point Maes was totally lost and _definitely_ frightened. Roy was hysterical and just the virtue of Maes being there was not fixing it, and he was now in so over his head it felt like he was floundering. McGonagall had trusted him to fix this, somehow, and Roy _needed_ him to, but he was also clutching desperately to his hand and still gasping, rocking back and forth, shaking so _badly-_

It was some basic level of sheer instinct alone that drew Maes forward, and returned Roy's bruising grip on his arm with the tightest hug around his shoulders that he could.

Roy did not calm down.

But he did not stiffen or throw him off, either, and that was enough for Maes to not let him go.

* * *

Maes and Roy sat there like that together for a long time.

Roy still curled into himself, pressed back against the cold corner of the room and rocking gently to himself, hiccuping through sobs buried into his knees that Maes could do nothing to stop. The only change was the decrease in both violence and frequency, a steady but slow descent from the heights of hysteria deep down into something exhausted instead. Just slow, nasally thick breaths in his arms, an unsteady pace broken every so often by a muffled _hic._

Maes stayed helpless to do anything more than just sit there next to him with his arms around him, and listen to him do it.

Nobody came looking for them, or even just innocently intruding into the classroom unawares of them already being in it. Minutes ticked on first, minutes that then morphed into a half hour, then even longer, and still, Roy never spoke. Never even withdrew his head from his little ball.

Just sat there, small and withdrawn like a beaten puppy, and so miserable it almost made Maes cry himself.

_I'm gonna kill you, Kimbley._

He was gonna kill him for today, and he was also gonna kill him for every time Maes desperately didn't want to think that this must've happened to Roy in the past, but he'd never known about it.

It continued to get later. Roy, still, said nothing.

At some point, when Maes' arm had already started to go a little bit numb and a little bit stiff, he started shifting a bit, trying to work his winter cloak out from under him to wrap it a little around the both of them instead. It wasn't all that cold, at least, for sitting on the stone floor of a stone castle with snow falling right outside, but for some reason, probably a spell, it wasn't half-bad. However, the both of them were sitting there in robes still damp, and Maes didn't know about Roy, but today had been just about one of the worst in his life and he was only just starting to come down from the shock of nearly plummeting to his own death. That without Roy, he _would've._

He'd been shivering for minutes now, and Maes got the feeling it wasn't going to get better for a while.

Roy stiffened a little at the motion, huffing shakily into his arms but still not flinching back. With a slight rub of his face against his knees, he lifted his head up, just an inch, and stared at Maes with over-bright, bloodshot eyes.

Maes tried his very hardest to find a smile back for him. It probably came out fragile and lame and obviously fake but it was just the best he could do, and after several moments, Roy lowered his head back again, giving his head another rub against his pants, then shifted himself to wrap his own winter cloak around their shoulders right on top of Maes'.

Then he ducked his own head back down, and withdrew into himself without a word.

Again, they were left to sit there quiet and still for a long time.

"Roy?" he whispered at last.

The Slytherin flinched a little again. He still did not lift his head.

"...you, uh... you hungry?"

Once again, he at first did not even respond for several long moments. When he finally did answer him, it was just in a tiny little shake of his head. There was no attempt made at words at all.

Even though Roy couldn't see him, Maes still tried to work a smile back on his face, willing its warmth into his voice. "Yeah, I... I guess I'm not really hungry, either. I probably should be, but after today-" He trailed off into a weak, nervous slip of laughter, swallowing hard himself and trying to just not feel the lingering terror and anxiety knotted in his stomach. "I guess I'm okay with skipping dinner tonight."

Roy still stayed silent. But the tense set of his shoulders fell just a tiny bit looser, and his breaths went quieter, and Maes figured that was as good as a victory as was going to get.

Maes hesitated again for another few minutes, still torn on breaching the quiet when Roy only now seemed to have finally calmed down, but who knew how easy that calm would be for him to break into a million pieces? It reminded him a little of when Roy had freaked out weeks ago, when Maes had first been helping him fly, but that-

That was after being one foot in the air for about one second.

This... was not that.

"Roy?" he ventured finally, even more hesitant than before. As loathe as he was to risk it, they could not just sit here in silence for all eternity. "You want to go to the hospital wing?"

This time, his answer was immediate, an almost violent shake of his downturned head, and Maes restrained himself from groaning. Yeah, he'd kinda figured that answer, too. "Okay," he tried again, trying to hold back the worry out of his voice. "Want to go to McGonagall's office? She said she wanted to see-"

"No."

Maes grinned weakly again, albeit mostly because it was just better than the alternative. Hey, he'd gotten him speaking, at least. That was progress, right? Even hoarse and cracked, it was still a word and it was understandable. Even amongst everything else, that was one tiny little piece of good and he'd have to take it.

Especially considering the argument he was pretty sure he was going to get next.

"Well, um... Roy, I- I'm kinda asking, because... well, it's getting- late."

There was another few moments of uncomfortable silence.

Maes sighed to himself, fighting still to keep back the momentary wave of exasperation from his voice as he tried again. It _was_ late, and he _was_ exhausted, but Roy was probably ten times worse, and none of this was, in any way, shape, or form, _his_ fault. If he was impatient or angry with anyone, it was not his best friend. "It's getting late, Roy. We can't stay out here all night, we'll get in trouble! I... I can walk you back to your common room, if you w-"

 _"No,"_ Roy whispered again, louder now, his voice cracking. He slumped even smaller, wrapping around himself like the only safety in the world was to be found if he was as tiny as possible, face all but buried underneath a mess of hair and a gold and black scarf that got even messier as he shook his head again. "I'm not going back there, Maes."

"Roy... it'll- it'll be okay. I know you don't want to, but-"

"Kimbley's _in my room,_ Maes," Roy gasped. Another waver towards hysterical but steady this time, as if no matter how much hurt lurked behind those words he'd been pushed too far past broken and his mind had been made up and set in stone. "We have the same room and I won't go back there. You can't make me, Maes." He slumped smaller again, burying his face deeper into the scarf for a breath so deep and shaking it made his shoulders shudder. "You can't make me."

Maes stiffened.

Kimbley was in Roy's _room?_

This whole time, _that_ was what he'd been going back to every night?!

_But... but that's..._

_No..._

Slowly, with a low, sickening sense of injustice, every puzzle piece at last began to click into place- and right along with it came an even deeper sense of blinding rage.

Yeah, he really was gonna kill Kimbley.

It took him several seconds to even find his voice at all, still too blindsided by the sudden realization to be steady or sensible or even all that sane. No wonder Roy spent so much time outside his common room- no wonder he was always so miserable looking whenever they'd walk back inside every night- _no wonder-_

Shaking his head vehemently, Maes cast off his own sickened rage as best as he could, because Roy didn't need it right now. "Then you're not going back there," he gasped, and he didn't care how stupid it was, he _meant it._ "We'll figure... I don't know, _something-_ you can stay with me if you want, I don't care, but you don't have t-"

"I'm not ever going back there, Maes. ...I'm not staying at Hogwarts."

"...what?"

Roy was quiet for several moments more, head still dropped down and arms hugging around himself like a fragile, protective shield from the whole rest of the world. Still pressed against Maes' side, he felt it when his friend started to rock gently back and forth again, the upset already thick just behind his voice rising until the words nearly broke. "I'm going home for Christmas and I'm not coming back. McGonagall said I don't have to if I don't want to and I- I d-don't _want to,_ Maes. None of the Slytherins want me here and I'm tired of staying just to let them push me around. I'm going home and I'm not coming back."

There was another breath of dead silence. This time, Maes was too shocked to manage a single word.

Roy was _leaving?_ Leaving, leaving?

You could... even do that? Maes had never even thought about it. Not even when it had been lonely in the beginning, or that time he'd forgotten his essay and could've sworn McGonagall was going to immolate him on the spot... he'd never even considered wanting to simply go home.

He'd certainly never considered Roy was so miserable here that he would actually want to.

But, now...

After what he'd seen earlier today...

_None of the Slytherins want me here._

Maes shuddered, and his eyes darkened.

Now, things were different.

He'd always just thought that Roy had liked the way things were. That he'd liked being alone, purposefully dodging whenever Maes tried to pull him to the Great Hall or silent whenever he saw him in the corridors because he simply preferred it that way. He'd assumed that he had just his own friend group he spent time with, his own people to talk to, his own group that he hung out with, and sure, maybe he was also a bit of a loner, but that overall he'd been just as happy with Hogwarts as the rest of them.

He'd never actually wondered if that might've not been the case.

He'd never realized that Roy's few minutes of hanging out with him or Riza or Jean might've actually been the only friendly contact that he had all day.

But now he'd seen what had happened with Kimbley.

He'd seen how it hadn't been _just_ Kimbley, at all, but that thick, stupid ring of other Slytherins around them, too. Many of them Maes didn't even know because they were older, and some of them that he did because they were first years like him, but it hadn't mattered, because _none_ of them had moved forward to try and help him. Sure, most hadn't looked all that comfortable with what Kimbley was doing to Roy- but not a single one had actually stood up for him and tried to make Kimbley stop.

For the first time, Maes wondered if this _wasn't_ the first time that something like this had happened to Roy.

For the first time, he realized it almost definitely wasn't.

"Then..." he started at last. His voice shook and Maes swallowed hard again, trying to steady it even if it was solely for Roy's sake instead of his own. "Then we'll figure something out for you until you go home. And then you'll write us because we'll miss you otherwise. And... and you'll probably have to deal with me trying to convince you out of it tomorrow, but I don't want to tonight and I'm pretty sure you don't either. But no matter what you don't have to go back there, Roy." He shivered again, pulling his friend a little closer under his arm to try and leech the warmth out of him and let Roy leech some right back, and no matter how hard it was he refused to let his voice break. "We can just stay here for tonight and figure something else out tomorrow."

Whether they got in trouble or not, Maes decided, it was more than worth it.

Roy wasn't going back to his common room alone, because Maes wouldn't let him, and if someone had a problem with that then just- too bad for them.

He didn't care about anything but keeping his best friend safe.

As Maes had grown accustomed to, pretty much conversing to Roy's neck this whole time, his friend didn't respond at first, and he certainly didn't look up to meet Maes' gaze. Maes figured he was going to have to be fine with that, too... Roy didn't seem to like eye contact all that much normally, and now he figured he was embarrassed on top of everything else. Well, too bad for him, too, because he wasn't planning on giving up. Maes would spend all night talking to the back of his head if he had to.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Maes, confident again, or at least as confident as he could make it, started to turn closer towards Roy again. He opened his mouth, ready to state his intention on staying, whether or not Roy would ask him to or even try to chase him off.

Only to be cut off with a huffed, gentle _oof_ as Roy crumbled back against him, and threw an arm around his neck so tight it nearly choked the breath out of him.

It was as if Roy had been holding whatever was left of his composure together with the thinnest threads left of restraint, but with the reassurance Maes, at least, wasn't going to try to force him back to his common room with Kimbley alone, that was the final straw. He'd curled over and his face was now totally hidden into his arm, breaths loud and unsteady again instead of silent, and he still didn't say a word- but Maes could still feel him shaking.

Trembling so hard against him he could feel his fingernails scratching deep against his neck, and face buried so deeply against his arm he almost couldn't even hear the muffled, tiny _thank you._

Maes stiffened again. Emotion tightened badly in his throat, and for several moments he was too shocked to even move at all.

He wanted to say then that Roy couldn't leave. That _Roy_ couldn't leave, he- he just couldn't. Because Maes would miss him badly and he didn't care if it seemed awful now, he'd find a way to fix it, but he just didn't want his best friend to go.

But based off how upset Roy already seemed now, that wasn't a case Maes thought it was safe to make now.

Especially considering...

Maes frowned a little, peering down at Roy as best he could without jostling him. He tilted his head, squinting to get a closer look at his best friend.

Who was currently sagging instead of leaning against him, head nodding downwards instead of pressing- and his eyes, flickering shut.

This time, when the surprise wore off, it was little more than instinct, for him to smile back.

Even if his friend was too out of it to see it.

Maes stayed quiet for a few minutes more, wanting to be absolutely sure his friend was asleep and not even take the slightest risk of waking him up. Roy didn't fidget around again, head still heavy and breaths gentle and quiet, but Maes still didn't risk testing it for a while, holding stock still in their curled position against the wall and just waiting it out.

At last, however, Maes knew Roy was as asleep as he was going to get, and if he wanted to try moving about, it was now or never.

Maes gingerly shifted, keeping Roy up against him with one arm while he fished about for his wand with the other, brow furrowing as he examined the classroom around them. Thankfully, it was still pretty warm in here, but if they were going to spend the night in here Maes was going to make it as comfortable as he could. Even if it was Roy's last night at Hogwarts he wasn't going to let him spend it on stone cold floor.

Unfortunately, he was still kinda just a first year, so there really wasn't all that much he could do, but... it was the thought that counted, right?

Maes frowned down on at the floor, leveling his wand as flatly as he could. _"Spongify,"_ he whispered, and gave his wand a little swirl.

Absolutely nothing happened.

 _Aw, come on... really? Really?!_ This time, Maes' face slipped into a scowl, and the fist around his wand tightened as he resisted the urge to snap. He thought he'd done it just like Flitwick... yeah, he'd thought that every time he tried the spell, too, but this time it really mattered- _"Spongify,"_ he whispered again, harsher than before, and his wand jerked down throughout the air.

Still. Nothing.

Well- a little bit of smoke. Just a little plume of oddly green smoke, swishing out of the end of his wand like a magical snow cloud.

So, not nothing, but definitely not something at all _useful._

Maes scowled a second time, sniffing down at the floor in an affronted huff. Stupid Kimbley could pull off spells they hadn't even learned yet while meanwhile he was stuck grappling with this... _"Spongify!"_

This time, the floor wavered a tiny bit, fading to an ugly sort of mottled grey. Maes didn't have to touch it to know the spell hadn't succeeded this time, either.

He sagged back with something close to a pout, glancing at Roy's slumped head, then the floor again. He really didn't want to sleep on a stone floor for the night, or make Roy do it after the day he'd had, but was starting to think that might be their only option. If only the stupid spell would just... _work..._

The cool, hollow brush of a touch against his was so gentle that at first, he didn't even realize it for what it was. Just a new coldness to his hand just as he tightened his grip around his wand again, preparing to attempt the spell for a fourth time. But he raised his hand and the coldness followed, and then Maes blinked, eyes widening in the dim lighting-

To find a transparent, silvery hand against his own.

Maes jumped. A startled whimper caught and nearly choked him in his throat, and if he hadn't been trying so hard to be quiet for the sake of the dozing figure next to him, probably would've done a lot more than squeak.

There was a ghost hovering right beside him. Where she'd come from, or when she'd got there, _how long_ she'd been there, just watching them, he had no idea, but there she was, and Maes did not care what anyone said, he'd never stop finding the fact that half of her just disappeared into the floor anything but creepy. But she was there all the same, the ghost of a young woman that he did not recognize simply floating silently alongside him, one hand essentially just stuck right in his arm. Another factor of the creepiness.

 _God,_ he really hated this school sometimes.

It wasn't his own House's ghost, and it wasn't Roy's own (way creepier) House's ghost, but beyond that, Maes wasn't sure he'd ever even seen her before. Nor was he all that big a fan of finding out someone had just been watching them for the past however long.

"I-" He stopped, swallowing hard to try and get rid of the dryness in his mouth, the hoarseness in his whisper. "Who are-"

The ghost stopped him merely with a finger to her lips, shaking her head with a soft smile. With her other hand, she waved gently through the air once, then again, a very simple maneuver that somehow still took him a moment to recognize as the movements of a wand. "A little less swish," she whispered, "a little more flick." She waved her hand through the motions again.

_...oh..._

His brow furrowing again, Maes refocused back down on his wand. He glanced uncertainly at the ghost again for a heartbeat, then back down, and forced himself to take an easy, steadying breath. Creepy or not- also embarrassing or not- if she was going to try to help him, then he figured the least he could do was listen to her.

_A little less swish... "Spongify!"_

_...and a little more flick?_

His wand shuddered, warming through the unfamiliar spell and the wood all but shivering under his fingers. An odd cloud hissed from the end again, this time a darker, healthier green from before, and for another long moment, there was nothing at all but silence.

Then, with a great shudder, and an even greater _pop,_ the floor beneath them twitched into something with the consistency of a sponge. It faded squishy and gentle, almost like an old blanket, and Maes nearly squeaked again with surprise while Roy shivered slightly against him, clearly feeling the change enough to shift even in his sleep.

But the Softening Charm was a success, and that was literally all Maes had been asking for.

"I- wow, I- thank you!" Still speaking in a rushed sort of whisper, Maes jerked around, staring to the still smiling ghost in a relieved wave of amazement. "Thank you so much! What's your name?"

The pale ghost, however, did not speak this time, mouth still faded into that small little wordless smile. She drifted back down gently, inch by inch falling back through the newly softened floor, and for just a moment, Maes could've sworn he saw her wink.

Then, she was gone, and they were once again left utterly alone.

...well, then.

 _Still creepy,_ he figured, mouth slipping back into a small smile of his own. _Still creepy._

_But not all that bad._

Wary of speaking, not wanting to risk waking Roy up anymore than he had already, Maes returned his focus onto his friend, trying to gently tug with his arms around his shoulders to get him to lay down. With the both of them still tangled up in their cloaks, it was difficult to maneuver Roy around without letting him just tip downwards and faceplant, but at last he'd managed it, and at last they were curled up on the soft floor together.

Roy, utterly still. Roy, his breaths still small, and just the slightest bit unsteady. Roy himself, still so small and utterly vulnerable, somehow, it made something in Maes hurt.

Once again, it was something he couldn't name or describe, just something close to sheer instinct that had him drawing closer still, wrapping his arms around from behind to press his forehead against Roy's shoulder. A shuddering apology caught in his throat, and for a frantic second he had to just listen to his friend's heartbeat and breathe along with it, because without that steady pulse beneath his head, he might've wanted to scream.

"...I'm sorry."

Maes jumped so badly he nearly tugged on Roy's hair.

"W- what?" Maes shook his head briefly, eyes squeezing shut again. He hadn't even realized Roy was _awake_ at all- never mind that he'd been wanting to apologize in the same breath as Maes. "Sorry for what?"

The Slytherin lay silently against him, still and head sagging listlessly against the floor. A few more moments passed in silence, Roy curling up a little smaller as one arm wormed under his head, forming a pseudo attempt at a pillow, the other pulling tighter at the cloak to all but disappear underneath it.

"For... for yelling. ...before."

"...huh?"

Roy shifted a little at last, head turning just an inch back so his tired, all but haunted eyes could meet his. "I yelled at you," he rasped again, voice so vanishingly small the words were nearly lost between them, hesitant and cracking and weak. "On the... on the Quidditch pitch."

The... the Quidditch pitch.

Oh, yeah.

_That._

"...oh," he mumbled back. The intensity of Roy's waiting, dark stare, even so tired as it was, so wounded, made him flush, suddenly wanting to just look away, but with Roy just _right there_ it was all Maes could do to just smile sheepishly back. "I, uh. ...I'd kinda... forgotten all about that."

Roy blinked blankly back. His mouth slipped open to become a tiny little _o,_ and for a splitsecond, looked so dumbfounded that if his eyes hadn't been quite so sore, Maes might've burst out laughing.

Then, his best friend turned back over to pillow his head against his arms, huffing out a wheezing, hoarse gasp of laughter of his own, a great shudder of relief jerking through him from head to toe, and for the very first time in this whole miserable day, Maes thought his friend actually looked like he was calming down.

There was another long, gentle pause. Roy remaining quiet and still beside him, head pillowed against his elbow and his breaths slow and deep under Maes' arm. There remained something unsaid between them, just a gentle, niggling little upset that barely poked its head out after the whole mass of distress that had happened that day and been painstakingly eased back away. Maes, for his part, was more then content to let Roy to try and rest in silence. After the day he'd had- the day they'd _both_ had- the only way forward that Maes could see was just for Roy to close his eyes and get some sleep.

But this was not, and had never been, about Maes.

"My dad is from China," Roy murmured slowly. A slow, thick beginning to a lurching, monotonous speech, but while his voice was tiny, the words were clear. "He moved here with my aunt soon after he finished his own schooling. That's when he met my mum. Aurora Selwyn... you know. One of- _those_ purebloods. Though this was all before the war, still... my dad was a pureblood too but my mum was the only one it really mattered to, but my dad didn't really know it. Blood purity is a different sort of thing, in China... it matters, but it's... it's not like here. Aunt Chris says he didn't even realize what it was like here at all, until the war really started. When he realized people were actually willing to kill over it."

Roy hesitated again. Somehow, even while still in Maes' arms, he seemed to wilt even smaller.

"He didn't realize how much it mattered to my mum until she joined the Death Eaters."

It took all of Maes' willpower not to stiffen himself.

And Roy's voice, once more, dwindled back to become little more than a hesitant, broken whisper.

"He didn't really have much of a choice but to join with her," he mumbled, tiny and ashamed. "I don't know that much about how it happened. I was too young to remember and Aunt Chris doesn't like talking about it. But I know both my parents were Death Eaters, at some point. I know my dad didn't really want to be, but he was, and my mum was... was pretty... _eager,"_ he spat. "For almost the whole war, two years after I was born all the way up until the- the... end."

He curled in on himself again, one hand rubbing tremulously at his face before thudding back to the floor, wrapping tighter around the blanket. Even in the dimness of the room, he looked almost chalk pale, breaths still curiously steady as if this was a speech he had gone over in his mind for a very long time- even if he had never once had the courage to say it before now.

Maes barely dared to even breathe.

"The Death Eaters had known someone was spying on them for a while. Plans kept being messed up, the Ministry kept being there at exact right time, people were even going missing... they figured out someone was spying on them but they couldn't figure out which one it was. I still don't really know what happened... like I said, Aunt Chris doesn't like talking about it, and I guess I didn't like what little I'd heard enough to ever want to learn more. But I know at some point, my mum confronted my dad. And... he confronted her back."

"He... your dad was the spy?"

Roy nodded listlessly again, barely little more than a twitch from the dark head still buried into his elbow. "He'd been lying to them for years. To- to _her._ Death Eaters had died because of him... the night before my mum figured it out the Ministry took out half their forces. Malfoy's mum. Black's dad. C-Crabbe, Goyle, McNair... I looked them all up, Maes. I looked up every Slytherin's name that I could find, and half of them- they're gone and it was his fault. Their parents are either in Azkaban or dead and it's because of him. It's n-not even a secret... _everyone_ knew besides me! My aunt never told me what he did but the second McGonagall said my name on the first day they all knew who I was, and- and I-" 

There was another stricken moment of dead silence, Roy's breaths stuttering and skipping like a scratched record. Maes wanted to tell him to just stop, that it was okay, he didn't need to hear it, _he_ didn't care if Roy's parents had been Death Eaters or not- but it was increasingly obvious that this wasn't for him. Roy wasn't telling him this for him to hear it, it was because he badly needed to say it, and Maes just happened to be the one there to witness it.

By the sound of it, he'd never told anyone any of this at all.

"Everyone who knows who I am hates me," he whispered finally, barely audible against the crook of his arm. Despite the miserable words themselves, they barely shook at all, a defeat-choked veritable whimper that was as flat as the floor and smaller than his ego. "All the Slytherins see me as his son, not that it matters because they hate my mum too. Without her he never would've gotten involved. He tricked her first before he ever tricked any of them and I'm either braindead stupid like her or a blood traitor like my dad. Then to anyone whose parents fought on the other side I'm the son of a Death Eater and a coward. I'm n-no better than she is because I ended up in Slytherin, I'm just- the stupid Sorting Hat even _said it,_ he said I was just like her, he said I had the heart of a Gryffindor but the blood of a Slytherin, and he was right, Maes. I hate it and I hate _her_ but he was right-"

He laughed suddenly again, a stumbling, broken noise that scraped against him like serrated shards of glass, and then there was nothing Maes could do to fix it, because this had been a breakdown a long time in coming and Roy wasn't exactly waiting for him to stop it. "Look at me! Everyone says Slytherin's the worst one, everyone says we're terrible people and they're _right_ but that's where the hat stuck me, and- and I wish he _hadn't,_ I hate- being-"

"Will you _stop that?"_ Simply unable to stand it anymore, Maes tugged hard at Roy's short hair, cutting him off with nothing more than that because someone had to and obviously if it wasn't him, it'd be no one. Because it had been no one this whole time but Maes couldn't bear this whole little speech and he certainly could not bear letting Roy self-loathe his way into another breakdown. "Listen, I've heard everything you've had, and nowhere does it say to be a Slytherin you have to be a terrible person."

"I-"

"You saved my life just this afternoon, or did you already forget that, Roy?" He tugged on his hair again, as insistent and demanding as he could, and at the startled, muffled squeak tugged on it a third time. "You didn't have to but you did. Just because you may've ended up with a nasty batch of Slytherins doesn't mean that's what you _are,_ you moron. You're... well, jeez, Roy." He released his hair to let his arm sag back down around him instead, closing his own eyes in the dim light. "Just actually read any one of the books you've always got your head buried in, for once. It says you're smart, which you _are,_ and cunning, which you _are,_ and ambitious, which you _are_ and don't tell me you're not because I've watched you learn how to fly in two months when you had didn't have to. It doesn't say anything about you being like Kimbley or Malfoy. And if the hat told you otherwise, well, maybe the stupid hat's just wrong."

Roy shook his head again, scoffing a thick, wet sort of sniff of something approaching exasperation but somehow closer to misery. "The hat's never wrong."

"Yeah? You sure?" Maes rolled his eyes even if the gesture was wasted to the back of Roy's head. "Because he chattered in my ear for about a minute straight about whether I was a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff. _Me,_ Roy. _A Ravenclaw."_ He chuckled weakly again himself, hoping to draw something of the same out from Roy. _"_ I'm pretty sure I'm failing Potions."

Roy snickered at last, and when he did, Maes felt something relieved warm and soften in his chest until it all but flooded it through him so fully it ached to breathe. "Y- yeah," Roy croaked, rubbing his face again off against his sleeve. "Yeah, because you spend every spare second you get hanging off a broomstick instead of studying, Maes."

Maes tugged gently on his hair again, just a gentle, teasing little pull. "And there you go. You just made an excuse for me instead of telling me I was stupid. Therefore, you are not a jerk, and you're a good friend, and just because you're in Slytherin does not change any of that. ...You moron."

He nearly choked on a wet chuckle again, shuddering on the floor to briefly bury his head back against his arm, trying to shake it and calm himself down, trying and evidently failing really badly at it. "M-maybe _you're_ the Slytherin," he mumbled at last, and Maes let himself laugh warmly back at him before a peaceful silence at last lapsed again.

He was convinced that his friend had calmed down again, or, at least, was as calm as he was going to get. There was still a lot he wanted to try and talk through his thick skull, and a lot more, it felt like, that he still just didn't know, but that could all wait until tomorrow.

If he could just get Roy to calm down for tonight, he'd take that as a success.

And, sure enough, his friend did fall quiet, after that. He was still enough for him to actually pass for asleep, though Maes could tell he wasn't, and for several long minutes did nothing more than lie there curled on his side and with Maes there with him.

Maes was almost relaxed enough to go to sleep himself, when Roy started talking again.

"My mum realized my dad was the spy, near the end," he said quietly. "I was there, but I was too young. I cant remember how it happened. But I know they wound up dueling each other. My mum won, and my dad died." He hesitated again, voice still both curiously small and almost just... flat. Like all the energy had already been sucked out of him, right down to the will to care, and even through a story as horrible as this one and as difficult as it was for Maes to hear had reduced it all to little more than a statement of cold, hard facts. "All I really remember seeing after that was her pointing her wand at her throat. I... never saw what happened after that. My... my aunt said she was so afraid of what You-Know-Who would do to her for bringing my blood traitor dad into his circle that she killed herself rather than face him.

"When they... um, when they dueled. I was- in the way. I guess my dad was too dumb to realize what was going to happen because I was with him when she found us and I guess they were a bit too busy then to stop and call for a babysitter." He laughed disparagingly, the sound so deeply haunted it was disturbing, and the slight shudder under Maes' arm reverberated again down to his core. "So he got me out of the way. There... wasn't any time, he... my mum was coming at him, and so, he... floated me up out of the way. He stuck me to the ceiling so I wouldn't get hit, and- I couldn't get down. If I'd fallen I probably would've broken my neck, but I couldn't fall because I couldn't get down, and then they were both dead and I was still _stuck_ up there, and with the Death Eaters on the run and the Ministry chasing them nobody realized what had happened until my aunt came looking for me the next morning."

Then, at very, very long last, with another deep shudder of a breath, Roy fell silent. He curled again, as if with that last revelation, every last bit of strength in him had evaporated off into nothing, and now that Roy had finally said everything that he needed to say- that _Maes_ had heard everything there was to hear- there was nothing left to keep him going. With Maes' dumbfounded stare still rooted onto his back, Roy simply flopped downwards like a limp fish onto his stomach, this time with an air of finality that almost sounded like his friend begging for it to be done- and Maes was certainly too thrown to protest against it.

"...Thanks," Roy croaked at last, face still pillowed rather firmly into his arm. "For teaching me how to fly."

Again, Maes was still too shocked to even try to properly respond. He shook his head several times, fumbling to process through even a fraction of what Roy had told him while helpless to do anything but just blink at his turned back; finally, so many things making so much terrible sense, so many more things making him mad enough to kill something in the same breath as wanting to just hug him again and this time not let go.

Well, he certainly couldn't do the first, he decided at last. So he guessed his only choice was to do the second instead.

"I'm not done with that yet," he finally managed again, and his voice came out rough and almost pathetic but he still forced himself to relax closer to his best friend. His heart was still unsteady and pounding, but for Roy's sake he again kept his voice steady, and wrapped his arm back around him as tight as he could. "Even if you do go home after all, I won't be done until you're at least as good as I am. So you're not allowed to disappear, Roy. Okay?" He squeezed him gently again, desperately hoping that even through the choked, miserable haze that clung so tightly around him like a second skin, at least that much could still make its way through. _"Okay?"_

"...okay, Maes."

The words were soft- barely audible at all, muffled again into both the crook of his arm and, still, the thick folds of Maes' scarf, because he had never once taken it off. The lurking pain under so much of what he'd said tonight had been thoroughly stifled by exhaustion at last, and when Maes shifted a little bit, he could just glimpse his friend's eyes slipping shut once again.

He could also hear, in those two simple, whispered words, a very faint smile.

Maes swallowed tightly, struggling silently against the painful lump swelling in his throat, and determined then and there that it was going to be his personal mission to keep that smile on Roy's face for as long as he still stayed at Hogwarts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, the ghost was the Grey Lady :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments/kudos!!! Sorry for the wait!!!
> 
> Whelp, this is the final chapter! (for simplicity's sake, let's just say I can't outline worth a damn and leave it at that). And it wouldn't be a Ranowa fic if the final chapter weren't a whopping *14k words*. ...sorry about that ;-;
> 
> I don't know exactly what my plans are to work on after this, so it might be a while before another update comes to this verse. It's far from finished, though :) As always, anyone who wants to write their own additions to the AU or draw something is more than welcome!!!
> 
> (also yes I did look up Britishisms and British Sounding Names several times for this chapter. *how did u know*)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!!!

Roy had nightmares, that night.

Unrelenting, frequent, desperate nightmares. Harried dreams that felt like they were always hovering just under the surface whenever he closed his eyes, tearing him to shreds to reach through to the forefront whenever he slept. He remembered rocking awake on the floor over and over in tears, Maes shaking him from behind and begging him to calm down, but the memories were murky and lost against the dizzy feeling of being stuck very high up and helpless, screaming to the ground so far away.

He still remembered the flash of green light, just moments before both his parents had gone silent forever.

The emerald glow ate away still at his mind even when morning came, lingering with what sounded like Kimbley's voice in his ears when he opened his eyes to the new morning, and found himself feeling no better than the day before.

He felt different, sure. More worn out, less erratic. More warm with embarrassment, less limp with defeat.

He didn't feel any better, though.

Roy swallowed gingerly again, his mouth dry, his face damp, and his throat still vaguely tight, and for several long moments, couldn't bring himself to move at all.

Then Maes, with a great, mighty _whuff,_ snuggled closer, and the warmth of embarrassment burned even hotter as the same breath as another squirm of anxiety deep in his stomach.

Maes' arm stayed dropped limply over his side, and Roy could tell just from the listless lay it hung that his friend was still out cold. Somehow, Roy was grateful for that, too. After last night... after pretty much literally all of yesterday...

He was pretty supportive of anything that postponed that fallout for as long as possible.

Roy blinked blearily on at the far wall for a few minutes more, more than content to just lie there and doze near sleep, desperate to dodge everything actually serious that he knew he was supposed to be grappling with now. But Maes stayed utterly unmoving, just completely dead to the world, and soon his curiosity at last got the best of him and he just couldn't stand not knowing anymore. Even as risky as it was, with Maes still draped all over him, now all but pillowed against his shoulder, Roy began to gently inch himself over just enough to get a look at the Hufflepuff behind him. Bit by bit, centimeter by centimeter, jerking still with near every breath Maes took- turning until he'd turned just far enough to finally catch a glimpse at his friend.

His stomach clenched guiltily all over again.

Maes was curled still at his back, sagging and nearly drooling onto the floor- Roy shuddered to realize that head, drool and all, had very recently been on his shoulder. But as comical as it was, it was impossible for Roy to not look straight past it, and instead of being repulsed it, see everything else about it that was just _wrong_ instead.

He was boneless and limp, so pale it was as if the fatigue had drained all the blood away from his face to leave him almost unhealthily sallow. Despite Roy's moving around, despite the fact that he was still slumped against a floor that really wasn't all that comfortable, he hadn't even come close to waking up.

The faint, dark smudges under his eyes said pretty clearly just how exhausted he was, and Roy wasn't left wondering why.

Maes had shaken him awake probably ten times last night, roused up by what Roy only barely remembered as his own thrashing and near sobbing hovering near midnight and dawn. He'd shaken him awake then stayed awake himself, groggily trying to talk to him, calm him down, mumbling through sleep-choked words as his all but limp hand tugged on his shoulder until Roy had slipped back into sleep- only to do it all over again barely even a few minutes later.

And that was _after_ nearly plummeting down a hundred feet in the stupid Quidditch pitch to get yelled at by Roy straight after.

It was no surprise Maes had wound up exhausted.

Shivering slightly again, the cold guilt still curling deep in his stomach, Roy turned carefully back onto his over side, and resolved to lay there as still as he could, for as long as he could.

* * *

When his friend's dead to the world almost snores turned into a dazed, exhausted roll onto his back, then a stretching that sounded as painful as a punch to the face and with a loud moan right along with it, Roy had been lying there for so long in felt almost like it was now afternoon.

"Ow..." Maes whined behind him, "ow, ow, _owwwwwwww,"_ and Roy just barely restrained himself from an amused smile and roll of his eyes.

"Good morning," he said quietly, at first not even bothering to turn off from his side. "Or afternoon. Which is what I think it actually is."

Maes managed little more than a tired _mmph_ at him, to which Roy rolled his eyes at again, even if he could only barely manage it through the guilt still worming in his stomach. With a first attempt at a deep, steadying breath, willing the shakiness to ease out of his limbs, he started to stretch a little bit himself, then gently worked his way up as well, shifting around to face him only to falter back at the last moment. Because Maes would be looking at him, and Roy would have to think about everything unsaid between them now, every humiliating, unsaid detail from last night and the day before, and he wouldn't be able to hide from it anymore.

Roy, swallowing nervously, finally settled himself on a happy medium of shifting about to face Maes, and his gaze, lingering miserably on somewhere down near the floor.

Maes had just watched him pretty much existing as a complete mess and bawling nearly all night long. Maes had been there last night to see him at even worse. Maes now knew _everything._ He'd said things to him last night that he'd never told anyone before.

So...

What happened now?

What on earth was supposed to happen now?

"Roy?" Maes started, rubbing a half-limp, still asleep hand across his eyes only to moan quietly again, all melodrama and nothing genuinely painful about it. "I think my glasses broke my face." He tugged his glasses off, the imprint on the side of his face almost comically deep, then blinked blearily back at Roy with a huge smile. "We can charm ourselves to fly but still no one's figured out how to make my eyes work like they're supposed to."

And just like that, everything was established as still _normal._

Maes had heard and seen everything- and Maes was still Maes after it. He was still Roy and Maes was still Maes.

A relief so potent it stole his breath away unfurled in his chest, and for a moment, he was almost too overcome to speak at all.

But being overwhelmed wouldn't exactly help move this along, so he somehow found an uncertain smile instead, rolling his eyes back at him as he folded his legs on the still oddly spongy floor. "Somewhere in there is a joke that all the best wizards already have eyes that work, but I think I'm too tired to find it," he said back warmly, only for then his voice to then fall flat. Because they were just sitting there at supreme heights of awkwardness, alone and Roy without a clue of where to go from here, not a clue as to what was going through Maes' head...

"Come on," his friend said, very abruptly and without even a hint at preamble. He held a hand out and shoved himself up to his feet with the other, standing there in wrinkled robes and entirely mussed hair but still somehow completely awake and ready to face the day, with such a sunny and indomitable air it was almost bewildering. "I'm starving, and I know you are too. Great Hall. Let's go."

"I- what? Maes-" He balked backwards, head turning against his will in a whimpering attempt at a shake. The- the Great Hall. Just like that. After what had happened yesterday- after Kimbley- _just like that-_ "Maes- Maes, stop! Wait-" But it was too late, his stomach twirling into a gordian knot as his friend grabbed straight for his hand without another bit of a second, pulling for him even as Roy dug in his heels to and struggled back to keep down regardless of his friend's efforts. Didn't Maes understand now, after all of this? Didn't he get that he couldn't go in there? "Maes, I'm not-"

"You idiot, you actually forgot, didn't you?"

_"Forgot?"_

"Yeah," Maes chuckled, at last succeeding in getting the both of them upright with another confident, beaming grin. "It's Quidditch today, Roy. The school'll be practically empty."

...Oh.

The Great Hall _would_ be empty. Which was probably the only reason Roy would have even considered going there. And- Maes had considered that.

Maes hadn't forgotten at all.

"I- all... all right, then." He scratched sheepishly at his hair, abruptly embarrassed of himself all over again, and again completely unsure of himself and what was the right way to react. _Oh_. "That's-... wait, Quidditch, Maes? Are you sure you don't want to go?" He shrugged out of Maes' grip, lingering back even as his friend still turned towards the door. "I'll be fine, now. Really. You don't have to stay here with me."

And Roy meant it, too. As loathe as he was to just sit in this dreary room alone- because he was _not_ going to the Great Hall _by himself-_ he had no doubt Maes had actually been looking forward to the school's Quidditch game, and he _really_ did not want for his friend to feel like he had to hang around here to babysit him like he was some kind of little kid. Besides, it wasn't as if Kimbley could find him, here...

Except, at those words, Maes' own smile faltered a little, like a candle wavering in the wind, and the earlier confidence in his eyes dimmed right along with it. "Er... yeah. About that." He coughed uncomfortably, and for perhaps the first time all week suddenly somehow seemed even less sure of himself than Roy. "I think I'm gonna take a bit of a break from Quidditch for a while. Maybe... maybe after the holidays or something. I don't know. Just- after-..." His face slipped into a sheepish sort of embarrassed smile, and he barely even managed to meet Roy's eyes at all. "Guess I'm not all that eager to be flying right now."

Roy winced.

Yeah. Yeah, he could _definitely_ get that.

"...Okay," he sighed at last, because Maes really looked like he wanted someone to break the silence now and after the number of times Maes had done it for him, he figured he could at least manage it once for his friend. "Great Hall it is, then. ...actually, on second thought?"

"Yeah?"

"Bathroom first," Roy chuckled, nodding slightly at his friend's appearance. "Because you just spent the night on the floor and based off your hair alone, I can really tell." He fell hesitantly into step with Maes, leading the way along towards the door, then found himself rolling his eyes at the highly amused look he could just _feel_ pinned right on the back of his head. "And, _yes,_ Maes, I _know_ I look just as badly as you."

* * *

Somewhat less exhausted, marginally less messy, a good half an hour after they'd woken up on a cold and uncomfortable floor, and still so awkward they both barely knew what to say to each other, they finally reached the Great Hall.

And, with an intense, almost liquifying wave of sheer relief, Roy immediately realized that Maes had been right.

It wasn't _empty_ empty, which, to be honest, would've been a little awkward in a room that big for just him and Maes, but the students scattered about the room were few in number, and obviously not very interested in any first year newcomers. There were a few groups talking quietly around at various tables, and many more loners with heads buried into textbooks, mostly older students probably studying for advanced exams.

But no one who gave them so much as a second glance.

The whole of the school was at the stupidest most suicidal death defying game of all eternity, and that left them pretty much alone in the hall- and Roy was wholly relieved for it.

There were a few Slytherins there, he noted with a deep, needling sense of unease. Older students that he didn't recognize all that well, mostly huddled together around scattered piles of textbooks. There was no Kimbley, Malfoy, or Black that he could see.

Even so, he wilted back on the spot, steps faltering backwards right in the entrance to the Great Hall, and his mouth turned drier than sand.

Maes' warm hand closed tightly around his, and without even a word, his friend tugged him straight towards the Hufflepuff table, and sat him down at it with not one trace of hesitation. He pushed Roy down at the side facing away from the Slytherins, he noted with an increasing sense of discontent, only to then hop over the table to sit on the other side himself, and he sat there with a sulky, dark glower pinned right over his shoulder, like a guard dog ready to pounce, and again, something warm in Roy's chest softened.

He'd be okay.

Beyond everything else here that he still didn't trust or believe in, he now could accept at least that much.

He'd be okay.

It was pretty late after breakfast had ended, most of the foods already completely gone, but a plate of sandwiches and another plate of cold looking biscuits filled the moment they sat down, and Roy was hungry enough to not be picky. He pulled whatever was in arm's reach onto his plate, intensely grateful for every last crumb of the spread before him, then rolled his eyes at his friend's continued sulk and shoved some back at him. _"Eat,"_ he said. _They're halfway across the room,_ he didn't say. _They can't do anything anymore,_ he didn't say.

 _I don't care if they do,_ he didn't say.

Just a simple, quiet _eat,_ and he waited silently until Maes' green eyes finally flickered back onto his with a warm wave of embarrassment. He barely managed to look appropriately sheepish, and Roy doubted it was all that genuine to begin with, but he did at last cave and, with slumped shoulders and a heavy, heavy sigh, reached forward to eat.

His eyes continued to flicker on past him in a narrow glare all too often, and it was all too easy for Roy to just lower his eyes back down and eat quietly on his own instead.

They were a good five minutes into awkwardly eating, even more awkwardly sitting in uncertain silence, and pretty much just staring down at the table, when Riza appeared.

Roy heard the footsteps first before even twitchy Maes did, and he glanced around to see the Gryffindor on her way right to them with flashing eyes and an almost dangerous aura about her that cut through the air like a knife. He blinked in surprise, barely even having the time to nudge at Maes before she'd reached them, and then she just stood there and stared, gaze flickering silently between the two of them like she had no idea what to say.

It took a full second for understanding to hit him, as to just _why_ she was staring at them like that.

What had happened yesterday had to be all over the school by now. Didn't it? There'd been a crowd of a dozen or more there to watch Kimbley and if there was one thing he'd learned at this school, it was that word traveled _fast._ By now everyone would've heard about it, or whatever the rumors would've twisted it into- and everyone included Riza.

She had to have heard about everything Kimbley had done. How thoroughly and pathetically Roy had failed to even defend himself, how he'd run off and disappeared like a baby, how Maes had had to follow him while Kimbley stayed back and laughed at him for it. He could feel her eyes on him right then and knew that _she_ knew _everything._

An awkward silence settled between them, lingering on the air like dust and sticking in his throat. Roy shifted miserably against the table, his gaze sinking back down silently towards the wood, and for probably the first time since he'd met him, Maes was without words, too.

The last time he'd actually seen her had been with Slughorn, almost a week ago, now, when he'd bolted to leave her standing alone with his Head of House. The very moment he remembered giving up all expectation for any outside help, and thrown every bit of himself that he had into fixing this alone.

And now...

Roy shrunk back down against the table, and abruptly felt no bigger at all than two inches tall.

They could all see how that had turned out now, couldn't they?

"...Hi," Riza ventured at last, her voice almost worryingly small.

"Hi."

Riza shifted about uncertainly again, coughing slightly into her shoulder.

Then, clearing her throat, she grabbed a plate of her own then simply sat down right next to Maes. "You both should comb your hair," she said calmly, grabbing a sandwich at sheer random, then letting out a quiet sigh and flipping the textbook besides Maes to the right chapter. "And some sleep. You look ridiculous."

Maes broke first, and almost immediately at that, a snicker bursting out after barely a half second of a surprised blink. Roy only let himself give in a few seconds later, slipping his head down to hide his laugh behind his hand, and sitting there like that couldn't help but admit she was right.

Yeah. Yeah, he probably did.

The hall remained mostly empty and calm for a while, the game still going on and pretty much all the school busy with it. Roy didn't know what, exactly, his plan was when that luxury ended, but figured it was best to just enjoy it while it lasted. There weren't that many luxuries at Hogwarts, and he'd learned long ago not to waste them when he got them by worrying about what happened when they were gone. As awkward as the quiet was, it was better than whatever the alternative would be, and if he really was going to leave the school soon-

Well, he'd take as much time with his friends as he could get.

This time, however, they weren't left alone for long enough for him to enjoy it.

Maes was the first one to notice, reaching over to nudge at Roy's arm even as he swiveled around himself, transformed back into a hulking, glowering guard dog all over again. "Someone's coming," he murmured, and Roy barely had time to tense before he'd looked up and seen who it actually was.

Olivier Armstrong, Head Girl and Slytherin prefect, was near the entrance to the Great Hall, headed straight for them, as intimidating as ever and definitely not very happy. Still, Roy reached over to pull Maes back down, shaking his head wordlessly at him mostly just because the sight of his friend looking like he wanted to throw himself at her, as touching as it was- well, he really didn't think watching him get stomped on by someone three times his size would make him feel that much better.

Olivier had never done anything to him. She'd never done anything _for_ him, exactly, but she'd never done anything to him, either, and that put her miles above most of their House, so he tugged Maes back, shaking his head at him to try and coax him back down. Whatever she wanted, Maes letting loose at her wouldn't accomplish anything at all helpful.

His friend sat back down with a sulky, even having the gall to scowl at him, and Roy just rolled his eyes back before shifting around himself, preparing himself as best he could to face the music.

Except for one problem.

He'd been ready for Maes to try and intercede- he had not, however, been ready for _Riza_ to do the same.

But there she was.

The moment he'd turned around, there she was, pushing back around the table the same way Maes had before, although she was perhaps closer to a dancer while Maes was more of a spastic gazelle, shouldering in front of him to glower up at Olivier in an even more laughable stance than Maes would've been. Roy managed little more than a horrified splutter, somewhere between touched and stunned as he uselessly just stared at her, trying to get her out of the way, and then it was too late, and Olivier was there- and blinking down at Riza like she wasn't sure if she was a fly she should tolerate, or a bug she should squash.

Roy nearly moaned aloud, and just about just buried his warm face in his hands right on the spot.

"...Right," Olivier said slowly, raising an eyebrow down to Riza. With a slight, almost amused cough, she stared over Riza's head to him without making a single attempt to address her, her gaze instead drilling right into him and when it did, it was clear she was not pleased. "Mustang. Where were you last night?"

Roy winced unhappily. He didn't dare look at Maes, suddenly very quiet across the table, and couldn't help but remember straight back to last night, when his friend had warned they'd get in trouble if they didn't go back to their houses. And he'd known he was right, too, but at the time it hadn't even come close to mattering.

It still didn't, but that didn't mean he didn't care if _Maes_ got in trouble for it, too.

"Mustang?" Olivier pressed again, even more insistent than before. "Where were you?"

"...somewhere."

Olivier blinked. Her eyes narrowed.

Roy continued busying himself trying to will himself to disappear into the ground, and tried very hard not to let his gaze break to stare pathetically down at the table instead.

"Somewhere," she said flatly.

"...uh-huh."

The silence was so uncomfortable it was nearly suffocating, this time, when Riza stepped forwards again, staring up defiantly with her arms crossed and almost begging for an argument. "Why do you care where he was? How's it any business of yours?"

No, _noooo..._ this could not get any worse, there was no way, _no, Riza, shut up, please..._

Olivier started briefly like she'd just been slapped, albeit with the flimsiest piece of paper, staring at the little Gryffindor with such disbelief Roy really wished he could just combust on the spot. "It's my business," she said at last, "because I am a Slytherin prefect, and one of my Slytherins was missing for an entire night- whoever you are. And you'd do well to watch your tongue, and remember who you're speaking to."

"I will n-"

"Well, he's not going back there for as long as Kimbley's still there himself," Maes snapped, and oh _no,_ it was getting _worse-_ "So maybe you should be finding somewhere else to stuff that cockroach instead of talking to us."

"M- _Maes!"_ Why was this happening, _to him, again, why, why,_ _ **why-**_

With a great, heavy sigh, Olivier lifted one hand up, the other pinching the bridge of her nose almost as if she was in physical pain. "God," she murmured under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut, then just heaved an exhausted sigh of eternal suffering. "If you simply must know, Professor McGonagall told me you would be permitted to stay outside your dormitory without consequence due to extreme extenuating circumstance. While you are being permitted this for now, however, you should not expect it to be a permanent exception. You should also know that I have never seen her make this allowance before, and you should not entertain even one ounce of a thought towards abusing it." She frowned at him first, then flickered her gaze over to Maes, as if despite his every attempt to avoid incriminating him she'd already known from the very start he'd been with him. Would continue to be with him.

Then there was the veiled suspicion blazing in her gaze, the obvious doubt that he and Maes were doing anything but wanting the excuse to prowl the castle at night, which couldn't have been further from the truth, but he wasn't about to speak up and tell her otherwise.

He also wasn't about to speak up that it didn't matter whether it was permanent or not, because he wasn't staying, because that didn't matter, either.

He didn't want to face yet another person trying to talk him into staying at Hogwarts.

His mind was made up.

Olivier remained quiet for several moments, arms still folded and sharp eyes searching between the three of them, tense and clearly ready for even the slightest challenge to her words. When none came, Riza silent in front of him and Maes fidgeting and miserably uncomfortable on his side of the table and Roy, still wishing he could just melt into the floor away from this conversation, the Slytherin sighed deeply again, dropping her arms to stand before him- this time, eyes only for him.

"Additionally," she began again, slow and now dreadfully tense. The silence between them felt thick as molasses, a creeping blanket that crawled like bugs over his skin while her gaze held steady and cold as ice. "Because I believe now is as good a time as any: I am extremely disappointed in how all of this has turned out. It's an explanation rather than an excuse or justification, which I'm afraid I can not give you, but all the same- I am sorry these matters continued on for so ong. And, that it happened to begin with, Mustang." Her cold eyes narrowed dangerously again, radiating a danger as sharp as a knife's edge still- but this time, not at him. "Bullying or harassment of any kind are not tolerated in Slytherin House."

Roy bit his lip again, but more than anything else just wanted to lock away the harsh drag of a laugh back in its throat where it was safe. He swallowed hard, willing back his own miserable grin as hard as he could until he had just enough control of himself to roll his eyes, and scoff on his way to turning his back. "Could've fooled me."

He just glimpsed Olivier start to stiffen out of the corner of his eye, a subtle wince that made him roll his eyes all over again. "I... can see how you'd think that," she murmured after a few moments, and this time Roy had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping back.

Like she hadn't known what was happening. Like they _all_ hadn't seen it. Like an apology was enough to whitewash and erase it all.

Olivier coughed again when he shifted back and this time stayed turned away, seeming to be extending a great deal of self-restraint to tug him right back around and make him look at her as she spoke. From what little he knew of her, he supposed he should be lucky she was bothering to give him that much at all. "But I mean it, Mustang. You-" she stopped, clearing her throat, then forged on again. "You should have reported-"

"We _did."_ And now Riza had moved forward again, a tiny nothing compared to her but radiating the exact same sense of danger and anger, little fists balled and if Maes was a guard dog she was now coiled and curled like a bodyguard hellcat. "We told Professor Slughorn about it days ago, and he ignored us."

Olivier winced a second time, clenching her jaw with another quiet wave of self-restraint. "Yes," she muttered coldly. "I heard. And, that is... regrettable." She paused again, cold eyes still narrowed away from him, this time drifting up towards the teacher's empty table as if the professor had been there all along to eavesdrop on this whole conversation. "As you've probably noticed by now, Professor Slughorn is a wonderful Head of House if you are a student that he favors. If not, then... quite honestly, you're really best off continuing to speak with Professor McGonagall. Take that as an unofficial rule of Slytherin House, Mustang. If Slughorn doesn't seem inclined to pay you any mind, eventually, you learn to speak with McGonagall instead. She will treat you fairly... as will I, if you chose to come to me."

Oh. Great. _Now_ they told him. Roy swallowed back his thick scoff and kept his eyes turned away, not wanting to reveal even the slightest hint of weakness, not to her or any of them, but it was almost more than he could do to not let his exasperated disgust, stretched thin straight to the breaking point, snap.

He wanted to say if Slughorn was that awful that the rest of his house knew it, maybe that was a problem and they should get a new head for Slytherin, period.

He _wanted_ to say he had no intention of coming to Slughorn, or her, or McGonagall whatsoever, because he was going home and not coming back.

He wanted to say, through the cold, black sense of rage and injustice swelling in his stomach, that it was way too late for any apology to make any difference at all.

Roy continued to sit silently, his gaze still averted, and said nothing at all.

The Slytherin waited for several moments more, evidently expecting more of a reply than a dead silence, but Maes and Riza seemed in no mood to entertain her and Roy saw nothing worthwhile to say. The silence continued on between them, Roy's resigned gaze glued to the table while his friends continued glaring at her as if that was going to accomplish something helpful, all up until it was nearly more than he could bear. and Olivier at last simply groaned.

At last, with little more than a simple groan, Olivier took a step back and held her hands up. "I see none of you are interested in talking," she intoned, still cold, still measured, still resigned in a way herself. "Well, I am just as uninterested in forcing you to do so. All three of you, regardless of whatever allowances Professor McGonagall has given you thus far, you are still expected in classes on Monday. Mustang, you specifically are also expected to return back to your common room soon. I can attempt to mitigate what I can, but I can not do so if you refuse to help me. The best way forwards from here is for us to simply try and start over- but that can only happen if you allow us and me that second chance. All right?"

The words were quiet and steady, not exactly a grief-choked apology but to his ears, sincere- and to his ears, bewildering, too. He still didn't have the slightest inclination to take so much as a single step back into the dungeons, never mind the Slytherin common room, and in his mind any effort Olivier made now to try and get him to want to was way too little, way too late. He didn't even know why she would _care._ Because she was like the rest of them, wasn't she? Even he had heard of the Armstrong family. Everything the Malfoys wished they could be, with all the same influence and prestige but them actually with the backbone and will to back it up, one of the few of the sacred twenty-eight to fight against the Death Eaters.

Everything the Malfoys wished they could be, and everything the Mustangs _weren't._

And if there was anything he had learned about Slytherins in his first year at Hogwarts, it was that his last name mattered a whole lot more than his first.

But... she actually sounded sincere.

She actually sounded as if she wanted to help him.

Roy bit his lip again, thoroughly stricken, lost, and very, very unsure of just who he was supposed to believe. It felt like he was standing on quicksand, the world beneath his feet unsteady and dizzying and sucking him downwards if he took one wrong step- and he'd already been screwed enough to be scared of taking one step more at all.

Certainly with anyone not named Maes or Riza.

But she was currently still just _standing there,_ waiting on an answer, and as much as he wanted to be stubborn and refuse to give her even that much- he wanted even more to just be left alone.

"Okay," he mumbled, and sulked back just a little closer to the table.

Olivier's frown creased a little deeper again, her eyes narrowing onto him as if she knew just how little he really believed in that answer. She watched him for a moment more, blue eyes shaded with quiet suspicion, only for her gaze to then search away from him to linger back on the Slytherin table across the room. The table that he was so obviously desperately avoiding.

Her eyes darkened for just a moment, and for just that one moment, she looked to be actually on his side.

"All right, then," she murmured, straightening her tie in a business-like manner. "Then I expect I will be seeing you soon, Mustang. Good day." She nodded to him, cast an unsure, still slightly amused look down at still silent, tense Riza- then turned her back, and left without another word.

Riza stayed tensed in front of him, glaring after the Slytherin still like a bodyguard while Maes didn't even wait for her to escape earshot, muttering under his breath. Roy caught _pretentious_ and _who does she think she is,_ both scattered in amongst lower, inaudible, probably obscene mutters, the Hufflepuff scowling and all different kinds of irritating and glaring in that way that was half touching, half ridiculous. God, could that boy _ever_ be civilized...

But Riza, at least, waited until they were alone to shake her head, the tension in her shoulders at last unfurling away as she sunk to sag next to him, pillowing her head in her arms. "Dad always said he didn't trust the Armstrongs as far as he could throw them. You know her brother is in my house? He's scary. He's only a little bit older than me but he's big enough to step on seventh years."

"Alex?" Maes started, staring. "Hey, I've seen him around... look, don't pay any attention to her, buddy. If you don't want to go back then just don't. They certainly can't make you. I mean what are they gonna do, drag us?"

"Mmm," Riza agreed with a quiet nod, just as sulky as Maes, now, the two seeming all to content to descend into muttering amongst themselves.

Meanwhile, Roy found himself stuck in a quiet, uncertain muck, utterly unable to steady himself as he waited there through several slow moments, and then, as his friends continued to softly bicker, chanced one quick stare over his shoulder.

With the game still going on in the snow outside, most of the hall still remained empty. Because of that, it was very easy for him to find Olivier, and track her back to where she'd strode quickly over to the Slytherin table, approaching right to a group of older students that Roy himself only vaguely recognized. Fourth and fifth years that were just few in a sea of many unkind faces- because even while he could barely recognize them, he still remembered that much about them.

They had not been his friends.

And Olivier, with a few quick, emphatic waves of her hand and words that were harsh even from this distance, pushed hard at the back of one's head, forcing him to bury back down into his book, then sat down right in the middle of the group with folded arms and a glare so dangerous it cut straight across the hall.

She didn't look like she was their friend, either. In fact, sitting there like that, she seemed far closer to a strict disciplinarian there to watch and control them, instead of a friend.

Roy hesitated again, another cold bite of uncertainty sweeping through him to clutch in his stomach.

When he finally turned back to Maes and Riza to rejoin the conversation as a near silent, unsettled observer, he still wasn't sure what to think, and was even less sure of himself than before.

* * *

The week that followed was easily the strangest that he'd had at Hogwarts yet- and though he did not know it at the time, would some day still win the prize for the weirdest week in his entire tenure as a student.

Roy wasn't sure if it was a sign of how little his professors actually cared, a stroke of magnificent luck, or if perhaps McGonagall had done something behind the scenes, but after that one brief conversation with Olivier in the Great Hall, he was left alone by all the Hogwarts staff. No one came looking for him that day or any other day- not even when, without even a single word of explanation needed, Maes had tugged him, hand in hand, back to that very same spare classroom that first night, and they'd once again spent the night on the floor instead of in their respective common rooms.

Still, no one had come looking.

Despite all Roy's reluctance, Maes and Riza had continued to coax him back into the Great Hall- well, Maes had gently coaxed and cajoled; Riza had just led the way. But that hadn't ended up mattering, either, because they'd ended up right at the Hufflepuff table again- and this time, they hadn't been alone.

Jean, Heymans, Vato, Kain; the very same group that had been there on Halloween, that he'd seen sometimes around the school or with Maes since then. Roy wasn't sure how they'd found out or who had told them, but they'd found their ways over, one by one, and he knew they'd known what had happened, too, _everyone_ knew, but they didn't ask him about it anymore than Riza had.

They'd just sat down with them at the Hufflepuff table, and after a few beats of awkward silence and even more awkward staring, they'd just joined the conversation around him like he belonged.

It wasn't easy. There was some more staring, this time not just at Roy but at their entire group, because they were a group of all four houses gathered around each other smack dab in the middle of the Hufflepuff table to be a massive anomaly in pretty much the whole hall. A few more mutters, and a few glances that Roy was pretty sure were aimed specifically at him, rather than the collection of Gryffindors and sole Ravenclaw camping out at the table...

And it was still infinitely better than sitting at the Slytherin table would've been.

It was still infinitely better then eating smushed sandwiches from Maes' bag outside in the cold, snowy Quidditch pitch.

Then came classes, and no matter how badly he'd wanted to glue himself to Maes' side and not let go his pride wouldn't allow him to ask for it, and moreover, McGonagall was already letting him stay with Maes at night; he desperately didn't want to test his luck and ask her to switch him to the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw classes instead of his own. But that, too, had ended up not mattering in the slightest. Because Maes had tugged him along to breakfast the first morning, a breakfast where he'd barely been able to stomach a piece of toast, and from then he'd found himself bundled right into Riza, Jean, and Vato's group, and shuffled off to class straight along with them.

And this, too, was infinitely better than he'd been expecting.

There'd been some more of that inane staring, other Gryffindors not seeming to understand why that one weird Slytherin was planted right in their midst, but Jean and Riza especially had just sat on either side of him unflinching and unwavering, glowering at anyone who looked too suspiciously, and he had been left alone.

The Slytherin half of the room, on the other hand, seemed to all have decided to try very, very hard to keep their heads down, and not look in his direction.

As far as Roy was concerned, the feeling was quite mutual.

His professors themselves had also seemed to not really be all that sure of how to handle him. Flitwick had done a double-take three times in one class period, although Roy wasn't too sure if he was surprised to see him sitting in the middle of the wrong section, or he was just taken aback to see him sitting with friends for the first time all term. Binns continued calling his name while staring blankly somewhere next to Kimbley, and he hadn't even sat there in months. Slughorn especially had been acting weird... busying himself finding every reason he could not to come within five feet of Roy's table, and the precious few times they'd accidentally met eyes had been so uncomfortable he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one wanting to melt into the floor.

McGonagall had been the only one to not call attention to it in any way, and simply proceed as normal.

Granted, normal for him was lurking near the back of the room, silent and uncomfortable, and trying to attract as little attention as possible, but... still. It was _his_ normal, and she'd let him find it again with Riza and the others, and he couldn't have been more grateful.

When she'd handed back their homework that week, one of the first assignments he'd turned in all year, she'd again passed over him just like everybody else. But when the essay had ended up back in his hands, he'd looked down at it to see scribbled, right at the very top, _98- +20 to Slytherin._

He hadn't been able to stop beaming for the whole rest of class.

Classes, overall, had been awkward, uncertain, and strange, but surrounded on all sides by people who actually did more than reluctantly tolerate him, and they'd been okay. Meals had been doable for the first time all term.

And... and, when night came...

Roy, so far, had spent the entire week in that spare classroom with Maes. He still hadn't been able to even physically grasp the idea of venturing back into his common room, no matter what Olivier had said or the uncertain, tentative peace that he'd found in the last week, and so far, at least, nobody had tried to make him. He hadn't wanted to do anything at all but stay with Maes where it was safe, and somehow, Maes had been willing to stay with him. He hadn't even complained about it, not once, not while they'd been left sleeping pretty much on the floor with their bags for pillows, not when Roy _kept waking him up_ because he just _kept having nightmares_ since that last confrontation with Kimbley, still caught every night by shadowed shreds of what little he remembered of his parents turned into tormented dreams, but-

Somehow, Maes was still there to wake him up every time.

Roy couldn't imagine his patience was going to last all that much longer.

He wouldn't even have been able to blame him for it.

But no matter what he was putting Maes through, and no matter what the rest of the school thought of him, it all did not matter at all- because there were only two weeks left until the holidays.

Soon, he was going home, and that would be the end of it.

Of all of it.

* * *

The week continued on through that unsettling balance, tentative days and humiliating nights and a slowly solidifying friend circle that he almost couldn't grasp being real, never mind what to do with. A bunch of awkward staring from pretty much most of the school but never anything outright, never anything said to him, never anything _done_ to him.

All the way up until Friday, when his fragile hopes- desperate daydreams, really- to poison himself in his afternoon Potions class just for the excuse to sit out from Quidditch and Madam Hooch miles away from the stupid Quidditch pitch, when Hohenheim stood up during lunch, and announced that, due to the continuing snow storm, all outside classes were cancelled for the day.

Maes blinked several times, staring blankly up at the headmaster, then just sagged all over the table like a melodramatic limp blanket, relieved and so over the top about it Roy couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, thank _god,_ " he moaned, nearly whining like a stuck pig. "That's the best news I've heard all year."

From across the table, Heymans snickered under his breath, and he wasn't even the only one to look amused. "Yeah? You? You, who shows off pretty much every time we get out there? You sure?"

"I- _yes!_ Come on, I'm not that bad! Ugh..." Maes sunk even further down against his arm, rolling his eyes with all the exasperation in the world. "I told you, I'm taking a... a little break from Quidditch, okay? I'll- be back, but..." He met Roy's eyes with an awkward grin, half weak and half seeming to be seeking some sort of approval. "After the holidays."

Roy smiled weakly back, limp from his own relief even if it wasn't even half as dramatic as Maes'. The Hufflepuff hadn't even gone out to the Quidditch pitch once this past week, and Roy would've known if he had, given how close he'd been sticking to him. And Roy had understood the reasoning behind it in about a splitsecond of wondering why, because it really was impossible for him to not- but that hadn't meant he'd been all that excited to try and convince him out of it.

Maes didn't want to fly any more than Roy did. There was no longer any question that either one of them _could_ do it, yes... but neither of them _wanted_ to.

Not after what had happened the last time.

Roy had already decided he was going to at least attempt to persuade Maes out of it before he went home. On one hand, he really didn't have much room to talk without being a massive hypocrite, but on the other, hypocrite or no, he didn't want Maes to wind up like he had. He'd refused to so much as touch a broomstick for years, and look where that had gotten him.

Maes loved flying, and was good at it. As insane as Roy still found the whole godforsaken sport to begin with, he knew Maes had fun with it, and the only way for him to _keep_ having fun with it was just to get back on the horse and try it again.

After licking his wounds.

And preferably far, far away from Roy, and with Madam Hooch there instead, and far, far, _far_ away from anything that would require Roy to get more than an inch off the ground, but still.

But that was not _now,_ because, now, that class had been cancelled for the day, and Maes obviously couldn't have been happier, and Roy was right there with him.

"Well, regardless, I guess we got some free time then, don't we?" Jean asked, shifting around to lean his back against the table with an almost overwhelming air of casualness. "We finish early, and Maes, you guys have an hour to kill... what do you want to do?"

"I don't know, the huge essay McGonagall assigned this morning?"

"It's _Friday afternoon,_ Riza, not an hour before it's due. You're barking."

"Right... and what'll I'll be when you're begging to look at my notes, _an hour before it's due?"_

Jean heaved a long groan of a breath, swiveling around just enough to give a mock bow in her direction. "The greatest, amazingest, bestest girl in the whole entire world..."

Riza smirked a little herself, and Roy nearly coughed on his own muffled snort. "That's what I thought," she said, and settled back against the table.

Roy smiled again, glancing back around through the whole group, at the good-natured teasing and the sense of calm and the smiles, and felt something warm unfurl again in his chest to sweep all the way through him, down from head to toe, and this time, he'd been with them long enough for it to felt familiar when it did.

He was going to miss this.

He was going to miss _them._

But the term was not over yet, and he'd learned the only way to approach this all and not go insane was just to take it day by day. And this day, Jean was right, and now they had a free hour to do nothing but relax. And looking around the group now, it seemed no one had the motivation to do anything at all but lounge here, pretending to do homework, and keep on snacking for whatever time they had.

Roy smiled slightly again, still so intensely just relieved to be able to be here and enjoy this at all he almost couldn't believe it, and found himself just relaxing back against the table himself, taking it all in while he still could.

It was when he did that, though, leaning his head against his hand to slump and blink sleepily around the rest of the hall, that he saw they were not alone anymore.

Someone was watching them.

His heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught right after that, because there'd been a whole lot of moments like that at Hogwarts and a whole lot of believing he was alone only to look about and find Kimbley right _there,_ and the first thing he saw was the green on his robes that meant Slytherin which meant _not safe._ And Maes by his side, because he was really too observant and perceptive for his own good, stiffened when he did, lifting his head in startled, innocent confusion- then was up on his feet before Roy had even had time to process what was happening.

Then he _did_ realize what was happening, and was so taken aback he nearly swore aloud

 _"Maes!"_ he hissed, grabbing him by the sleeve to tug, but it was a bit too late for that rebuke to matter, because his friend's movement had attracted the others' attention and now some of them were moving to stand as well. "Maes, wait- god, you seem like you _want_ to punch someone-"

"Uh... _yeah,_ actually, I wouldn't mind it, Roy! Especially if it was Kimbley, but you know, this guy'll do fine, if he doesn't leave us alone-"

 _"Maes!"_ he snapped again, this time outright hauling him back to sit down. The protective streak was somewhat endearing, really, but he also really did _not_ want to sit here and watch his friend start a fist fight. "That's my point, he's- he's all right, you guys, leave him alone!"

Because despite all his worst, most dreaded fears, for the first time, it _wasn't_ Kimbley.

It was Scar.

Lingering back a few steps still, and looking as if he now had half a mind to just turn his back and scramble away as fast as he could, was not Kimbley, but _Scar._ The first year who had not spoken to Roy since the day of their Sorting, who'd barely even looked at him at all and avoided him more like he was the plague. Watching him with that same hesitant, uncertain look that it felt like he'd _always_ seen from him- and seeing him there like that, and not for the first time, Roy again remembered what Kimbley had said to him.

That the only reason he'd picked Roy had been because he wanted to hurt him- but if it had not been him, then it would've been Scar.

He remembered, looking at Scar like that, that Scar had been like Olivier. He had never done anything for him... but he had never done anything _to_ him either.

Except, unlike Olivier, it hadn't been his responsibility to.

Roy bit his lip again.

"Come on," he called at last, waving Scar over with all the fight just caving out of him, because he was really tired of having to walk on eggshells around half the school and didn't really have it in him anymore to keep on shoving whoever looked at him twice away. "Come on, Scar... and _you,"_ he whispered, tightening his hand back around Maes' sleeve, " sit _down."_

His friend scowled darkly, still glaring over at Scar almost as if he expected to molt like a snake and reveal Kimbley underneath at any second, and he wasn't the only one at the table who was frowning and distrustful, but at least no one else stood up to stop him. Scar didn't look all that relieved or grateful for it, either, but with all eyes on him and Roy having explicitly extended the invitation, it seemed he didn't really feel he had all that much of a choice, because after a few moments of awkward silence the Slytherin just squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a long, shaking breath with anxiety etched into every line on his face, and walked forward.

"Sorry," he mumbled, glancing about the rest of the obviously hostile group with wary eyes. "I didn't mean to just stare like that. I only... can I just talk to you for a minute, Roy? Please?" He hesitated again, and even while he still lingered back from them all seemed especially cautious regarding Maes. "Really, I just wanted to talk..."

"...yeah. I figured." Roy rubbed a tired hand over his face again, trying to cast off his own annoyance. Scar may not have ever done anything to him, but he also wasn't exactly his friend, either, and this was weird to say the least. And Maes really did seem itching for a fight the same way he had all week, and some part of him was really worried this just wasn't going to end well. "What is it?"

Scar remained a few steps back for a moment, still intensely wary and reluctant, but when Roy elbowed at Maes under the table to get him to stop _glaring,_ for god's sake, the Slytherin finally gathered up enough courage to venture forward. One look Maes on one side and Riza on the other and he seemed perfectly happy to inch his way into sitting some distance away, and when his reluctant smile was only met with further glaring and hostility from around the group, he gulped, inched backwards again, and seemed only too eager to focus back all on Roy.

"Where've you been?" he asked slowly, still sort of fidgeting in his seat. "I've been waiting for you to show up in the common room forever now..."

Roy frowned right back. "If Olivier sent you, you can forget it. I'm not going back there. Not unless Kimbley leaves. Professor McGonagall said I didn't have to, so-"

"What- Olivier? No, I just- I only wanted to... I'm sorry." He shook his head vigorously as if trying to clear it only to dissolve into a tired groan, relaxing at last only to sit there and look just thoroughly exhausted. "That's all I really wanted to say. I'm sorry."

Roy narrowed his eyes back in silent, guarded suspicion.

An apology?

That was what this was?

"I'm sorry," he said again, now averting his bright eyes on down to the table, scratching at his scar in what Roy vaguely recognized as a nervous tick of his. "I knew a lot of what Kimbley was doing and I've known it for a long time, now. I didn't always like it but I kept my mouth shut. So... for that. i'm sorry."

Roy's eyes narrowed again. Once more, he was struck by how utterly underwhelmed he was by it, because that was pretty much a fact that all of his House could admit to. Again, why _Scar_ of all people was here, saying it to him now, was as mystifying as it was unhelpful.

There'd been far worse monsters to watch out for than other first years watching but silent.

"I... I told Professor McGonagall," he ventured again, managing another weak smile when the oddly expectant silence dragged on for several moments more, Roy watching him wordless and still and his friends around him much the same. "A couple days ago. She's been talking to everyone from Slytherin about Kimbley... or about you, too, I guess... she said she was helping Professor Slughorn, but with the way he's been moping around I think she took over all of it. Anyway, I told her everything I could. I'm not sure if anything will come of it, but... she seemed mad, at least." He shrugged slightly, the gesture draining itself of all its energy when still, none of their group responded. "I don't think she likes Kimbley. Not like Slughorn, at least. Whatever ends up happening, it'll be more than what he'd do."

Roy bit his tongue rather than snap back, at that one, because there was any number of things he wanted to say back to him. That Kimbley had broken dozens of school rules and been rewarded with a fawning Head of House for his efforts, for _one,_ he thought, rage and sickness coiling in his gut again. Even while Roy fully expected McGonagall to take it seriously and do what she could, he still just could not envision anything worse than a couple of detentions in his old roommate's future.

That was the only aftermath he could see coming.

Meanwhile, he was going home, and not coming back.

It was brutally unfair and awful in every which way, and it didn't matter, because Roy knew it wasn't going to change.

And, also, meanwhile...

Scar was still just sitting there. _Watching_ him.

"...All right," he said at last, stiff and cold and more than hesitant enough to make his face warm with embarrassment, but he forged on all the same, because he wasn't going to look dumb in front of Scar- or Riza, or Maes, or anyone else at all, for that matter. "Is there anything else, then?" _Or did you just come over here to ask me to tend away your own sense of guilt?_

Scar paused still, glancing around again at the rest of the group and, once again, forced off balance by the cold and unwelcoming air that waited for him. "I..." His hand ventured to rub at his scar again, and then his gaze just dropped quietly down to the table, the first year seeming to simply wilt in on himself on the spot. "...I just wanted to tell you that- there's an extra bed in our room. If you want it."

...

All right, _that_ was enough to rattle him.

_"What?"_

Scar shrugged slightly again, still avoiding his gaze to watch his own hands instead, but his voice picked up speed and strength as he went on, as if at last finding something in him to forge on with because he had _something_ he wanted to say, and he was going to say it. "There are four in your room, but just three in mine, and I asked the others, and they said they'd be okay with it, and McGonagall said that was all that that had to happen for you to move. I- uh, I actually sort of already grabbed your stuff... to keep it safe from Kimbley." He hesitated again, meeting his eyes again at last to try for another small, weak smile. "If you don't want it that's fine, I'll move it back, but... it's there if you want it."

There was another brief, startled breath of silence. Roy, this time, didn't have the slightest idea what to even think.

This had flipped around on its head from an awkward apology to an even more awkward gesture of unforeseen kindness that he had no idea where it had come from- and had even less of an idea as to what he was supposed to do with it.

Where on earth was all of this _coming from?_

Since when had-

Why was _Scar-_

_What?_

He was very definitely confused right from the get go, and it took him little more than a few seconds for his pathetically blank mind to morph straight into a sick, needling suspicion curling in his limbs and pooling in his stomach. Another attempt by Kimbley to get to him, because Kimbley had been curiously quiet all week, and if Roy had learned anything at all it was that Maes and his friends were the only exception to the rule that he should trust no one. And it took only a cursory moment of examination to stumble over what he knew was wrong with this and when it did, he nearly let go of Maes after all, to sicc him on Scar like the protective guard dog he knew his closest friend wanted to be.

"I know who you live with," he snapped, voice brittle to catch in his throat and yet the will behind it that collected around his heart solid as icy steel. "Rosier, right? And Mulciber?" Roy crossed his arms with a violent wave of disgust and loathing, grinding his teeth together to just barely restrain the words back from turning into a yell. "Don't think I didn't learn what my parents did to each and every one of our classmates? I didn't memorize them all to make sense of why you all hated me?"

Rosier, two siblings in the ground and an uncle in Azkaban.

Mulciber, whose parents had escaped Azkaban by the strength of their connections alone but whose name had turned from gold to mud.

Scar-

"You- you know what I could never find out, huh? What I didn't know? What I did to _you."_ Roy turned bitterly away to glare down at the table instead, sick to his stomach and with eyes that burned, because he was so _tired_ of this and just wanted it all to stop. Why couldn't they just leave him _alone?!_ "I could look up everyone's families except Kimbley's but then yours- I didn't even know your name. So what was it that they did to you, huh, Scar? Go ahead, tell me. Let's skip the whole drawn out affair where you try and trick me; just come out and say it, why don't you? What on earth did my parents do to yours that was so terrible that you want to take it out on me now? Go on, say it! I'm all ears for you now, Scar!"

And then he was almost yelling, now, nearly shouting though he'd never meant to, panting past clenched teeth and so sick of it all he saw red and wanted to scream. He felt Maes touch a hand worriedly to his back, trying to calm him down, but Roy didn't want to calm down, he wanted to punch someone- punch _Kimbley-_ but Kimbley was not there and if Scar didn't leave soon he'd be the one taking it instead.

He was _done_ being a punching bag.

If anyone wanted to go after him now before he let school, then he was hitting back.

Except Scar was staring back, now, wordless and wide-eyed with disbelief and infuriating _innocence_ and just as taken aback as everyone else around him, not the hostility that he'd been ready for but a shock that Roy took stride because he _really_ didn't care. He just _did not._ The Slytherin blinked at him, then stared around at the rest of the group as if searching for help, but there was none to be found and it did not take long for his silent pleas for help to morph into a wordless stare of disbelief back at him.

He looked wounded and shocked, eyes huge and scarred face stricken- and Roy was way more than a little bit too far gone to care.

He wanted to hit back, hit _someone,_ and for Scar to crawl over here, after _everything..._ for it _still_ to not be over...

His anger flared again, and this time, it swelled dangerously close straight to a breaking point.

Hadn't they done _enough_ to him already?!

_Wasn't it over yet?!_

Scar blinked several times at him, mouth opening and shutting and no words coming out. When he finally made a stab at speaking, it was little more than a weak splutter, and if it hadn't been for Maes' restraining hand on him he would've shoved up and left right then and there.

At last, the Slytherin searched around the rest of the group again, this time not appealing for help but merely a weak, almost pleading stare to just be heard out. "Can you all leave us alone for a few minutes? ...Please?"

And none of them looked all that excited about the prospect to begin with, but Roy didn't allow them to even consider it as he shook his head with a derisive growl. "The whole bloody school knows my entire family history. You all knew before even _I_ did- you knew the first day, I remember it, you were the first one to walk away when you heard my last name. Every person I've ever talked to knows my whole pedigree... meanwhile you've hid behind a nickname for months."

 _It was supposed to be you instead of me_ , he wanted to gasp, the words splintering and broken in his throat, because it was _true,_ but the truth of it was it shouldn't have been either of them, and the person he was mad at was not here- and it was too late to matter.

It was also a bit too late for him to care.

So Roy held his tongue again and did not apologize or take it back, and he waited in silence, glaring back at Scar and if he'd scared him off, all the better for it.

But Scar wasn't going anywhere.

The Slytherin sat silently for several moments more, averting his nervous eyes again to linger back on the table as he wrung his hands together and fidgeted like a startled rabbit. But he did not run off- did not even flinch away from the ring of students around him now and glaring.

Instead, he held very, very still, and very, very quiet in his seat, for several very long moments. He breathed in a deep, shuddering breath, as if that was all there was to calm him and he needed as much of it as he could get.

Then, for the first time, started talking.

And actually _explaining._

"Do you know about the Ishvalan Massacre?"

Roy stiffened again.

The immediate answer was yes. Or, more properly, a strangled squeak of a whimper, and nothing at all beyond that. Because he'd spent hours reading whatever he could find on the crimes of Aurora Mustang and the questionable heroics of Ling-Fen Mustang, and that had been simply one among many, but he remembered every last one of them.

And like every last one of them, his stomach clenched at the reminder, and his mouth went sickeningly bone dry.

Once again, he did not want to speak at all, and in fact, wanted very little more than to hide and not come out.

"1964," Vato said suddenly, steady, monotonous, and gut-wrenching in its calm. "Near the end of the war. You-Know-Who wanted an upper hand and searched abroad for different types of magic that weren't developed or advanced in Britain, and one of the groups found was a tribe of Seers under the Iranian Ministry's jurisdiction. He dispatched Death Eaters to ask them for their assistance. When they refused, the Death Eaters killed them."

Roy miserably sunk his head, swallowing hard in his throat as he stared back down to the table and said nothing. Uncertainty and a thick regret slowly solidified around him, clinging to the very air like muck, and Roy found himself unable to look up again- not even through the still steady warmth of Maes' hand on his back.

He was right, of course.

Like always, he was right about everything.

And the one detail that he'd left out, half a blessing because he didn't have to hear it, half a dreaded curse, because he felt the anguish of it all all the same.

Aurora Mustang had led that mission.

"Uh... that's. I. ...yeah," Scar fumbled uncertainly, seeming thrown off by the answer, very unused to the dry, factually perfect but emotionally vacant info dump, especially as, Roy now understood, it related to his own past. Because he now understood _everything._ Because it seemed that was the reasoning for _everything_ in his House, and every time he thought he'd turned a corner there was just another person that his parents had hurt. Another that his mother had killed, another that his father had betrayed.

Some days it felt like the whole world was a poisonous knot of stories like that lurking around every corner, but as he turned around and around he was starting to realize the world were no corners at all. That the world was just a circle, and with every new person he met, and new chance that he got- his parents would already have destroyed them, too.

"That's..." Scar coughed uncomfortably again in his seat, averting his gaze and seeming to almost shrink a little. Shrink just like Roy wanted to. "Yeah. That's... what it was." He shifted about once more uncomfortable and awkward even out of the corner of his eye, hand wavering back near his scar to rub at it again.

His... his _scar,_ Roy realized at last. Oh. His scar.

His stomach sunk down to his toes so fast it made his spin, and for a moment, he couldn't see or breathe or even think at all.

His scar.

Oh, no...

"Well," Scar went on finally, voice hushed quiet again, muffled behind his hand, "that's where I'm from. Obviously."

Roy swallowed hard again, sinking a little closer back to the table, and suddenly wanted very much to go away.

"I was lucky. I... I guess. I don't know if my parents knew what was coming that day or if it was dumb luck, but my mum sent me off to play in the city with a Muggle friend that day. I didn't even know what had happened for a while... it took weeks for someone to even come looking for me at all. Aurors from Britain." Scar frowned to himself, propping his head up on one hand while the other scratched and peeled at the table, seemingly just for the excuse- or, perhaps, desperate need- to continue looking anywhere but at him. "We weren't actually under the Iranian Ministry, though most of the books I've read here get that part wrong... we were really the only wizards around that area at all. Muggles have been fighting wars there for centuries and most magical people left for less unstable areas a long time ago. We... the Ishvalans were the last ones there, so when your people showed up there and finally found me it was... pretty much just me."

Roy sunk a little more back into his seat, still unable to even look at him. He now felt about lower than dirt, and he knew from the lingering, horrible silence around him, that he wasn't the only one.

He hated being a Mustang. He hated being a Slytherin.

He...

He hated _this._

"Is... is that why you're here?" Riza asked finally, her voice small from beside him and yet her presence, still, instantly reassuring in a way he could not put into words. "At Hogwarts, I mean. Because of- what happened to the Ishvalans?"

Scar gave a single glum nod, continuing to play with the table rather than look at them. "Pretty much. I was adopted by a Ministry family and... here I am." He paused for moment longer, eyes narrowing into a stubborn sort of glare, and for a moment, the hand scratching at the table clenched into a fist instead. "I didn't find out for a while, but my adoptive parents had kinda been wanting a kid for a while. And like I said, they worked at the Ministry. ...I'm pretty sure they were supposed to hand me over to the Iranian Ministry anyway, but- I guess you can see that they didn't." His face twisted into a worn attempt at a weak smile, one that didn't feel all that genuine at all, and, in fact, seemed every bit as withdrawn and flat-out lonely as Roy felt inside. "That's why I go by this dumb nickname in the first place. They didn't mind if I used a nickname, but really got upset if I used my _real_ name, because when they adopted me gave me an English name instead. To... to fit in."

He hesitated for a moment longer, frown still twisting deep across his face like it'd been drawn there with a pen or a knife. His eyes darkened, and in that beat he did nothing more than scowl down at the table.

"Clive Ainsworth," he admitted at last. His voice came out a little too loud and way too awkward, like a heavy and misshapen stone dumped into a still pond. "That's my... or, what my adoptive parents call me. Clive Ainsworth."

There was another blank moment of silence. Roy blinked several times, and not fr the first time, found himself speechless and with absolutely no idea what to say.

Jean was the first one to start laughing. An attempt to muffle a snort that ended in him burying his mouth into his hand, eyes over-bright as his shoulders trembled, and soon Heymans next to him, and then even Riza had cracked a smile while Scar sat there, faintly red-faced, and glared at the table.

"That," Maes said finally, voice trembling just a little with the effort of the restraint, "is _the most_ British name I have _ever_ heard. And I'm from Upton Snodsbury."

Jean nearly choked this time, now burying his face into his hands for one gasped burst of a laugh, and this time even Scar was smiling. "Upton Snodsbury is worse than _Clive,_ Maes!"

"Maybe so, but Upton Snodsbury isn't my _name."_

All eyes turned to Scar again, who still looked as if he'd really like to just die on the spot, but when everyone looked at him he stared straight back with a startled blink only to finally relax into an attempt at a grin himself. "Whatever, man, you're still from Upton Snodsbury," and for the first time in this whole conversation actually looked more comfortable here than he had standing back in the shadows watching them.

Roy hesitated for a few moments more, trying to smile along with everyone else but it felt fragile and fake to even try. His stomach still roiled and knotted, his heart still sunk, and his head still felt faintly dizzy in a way no rest could fix. He winced and found his arms curling protectively around his stomach, just a nervous habit, by now, unsure if he should say it, because he felt _awful_ to even feel the words on his tongue, but he badly wanted to know and looking at Scar now, he was starting to realize the Slytherin _hadn't_ come here to trick him. "Your- your scar," he burst out before he could stop himself, flushing miserably as the attention switched onto him, but, well, it was a bit too late to take the words back now, wasn't it? "Your scar," he said again. "Then, was it- did... did my..."

It seemed to take Scar a few moments to realize what he was trying to say, but when it did at last click, the weak smile that flickered across his face was more a balm than any medicine ever could be. "No, actually. This... it's just from a dumb accident when I was a kid. Before I ever came to England." He smiled again, though Roy was a bit too busy trying to not pathetically sag with relief to even really see it. "I wouldn't go by it if it was from then."

Roy smiled waveringly back, intensely relieved even if he felt guilty for it, because it surely meant nothing to Scar, but it at least meant something to him. And it meant something to the rest of the group as well, because that stiff, hostile atmosphere was dissolving at last, and Roy let himself relax along with it, because there was no longer any doubt in his mind that Scar had not come here for Kimbley.

"...Sorry," he said at last, meeting his eyes again.

But Scar did not even hesitate in offering up a tentative, wane smile of a truce back. "I'm sorry, too," he said, glancing askance back over at the Slytherin table. "I... never liked what Kimbley was doing, but I still didn't say anything until it was too late to really matter. That's really why I came over here, though. I talked to my roommates about it and we all pretty much agreed that no matter what happened when we were kids, we're not our parents. Whatever happened then, Kimbley's done worse to us than anything you might've, and that's _now,_ so we're... we're willing to give it a shot now. ...if you want us to, anyway." He folded his arms with a continued air of discomfort, seeming to not really know what to do with all the eyes that were on him and the continued silence. "I think we'd kinda get it if you didn't want to try it. McGonagall'll probably figure something out if you ask..."

It was clear, now, to Roy, that Scar hadn't come over here feeling all too sure of himself, and to have found him like this, undeniably a member of a very different group of overprotective friends that were all very obviously not Slytherin, was even less confident in his offer now than he had been before. That Roy was not staying at school, so the offer was moot, was moot in an of itself; no one know that except Maes, and to even Riza and Jean and the others, it was a real offer that he had suddenly had to consider.

The offer to live with two borderline strangers and Scar, who had every reason to treat him just like Kimbley and his friends had.

Who had every reason to not want him anywhere near their room.

And from Scar, who, especially now, had _every_ reason to just withdraw it, stand back up, and go back over to his friends to never have anything to do with him again.

Roy, in the thick uncertainty that settled, the others around him talking without him as he sat silently and felt his stomach knot, glanced back over at Maes and Scar.

This whole time, he'd been planning on leaving school, because- well, what incentive was there to stay? Maes and Riza were Maes and Riza, but six more years of letting Kimbley step on him was not worth Maes and Riza. He'd said it to McGonagall himself. He wanted them to be happy but simply _could not_ survive here six more years for it. It was not worth continuing to half fail his classes and sitting outside in the cold because his own common room wasn't even safe. Was not worth Slughorn and his classmates and the whole rest of this miserable school, because _he_ was miserable here and missed being able to live somewhere he didn't hate. With people who didn't hate _him._

Because that was simply what Hogwarts had been for him. That was what it had always been, and there had never been any reason for him to believe that would ever change.

And-

And, now.

It had only been one week. One week of differences and changes to this school that could not balance against months of what the nightmare it had fully established itself to be. One week that hadn't even been all that great because if he actually sat here and thought about it he'd spent it sleeping on the ground and forcing his best friend to sleep there with him and being stared at and whispered about pretty much twenty four seven.

But one week that had actually been... bearable.

Not easy, sure. Professors didn't know what to do with him, Slughorn could still barely even look at him, nor could pretty much all of his own House. His friends had edged somewhere into some angry, overprotective realm that he didn't know what to do with, like they weren't quite just his friends anymore but angry bodyguards instead. Even Maes, some days, and Roy sorely missed the way it used to be, because he wanted friends, not to be protected, sorely missed it even worse because he had no idea how to get it back.

But it was also bearable.

He'd been able to actually spend this week as just another student at Hogwarts, not running and hiding from Kimbley, and for the first time, it had actually been bearable. Not as good as home would've been, but... he knew it was longer a question of whether or not he could stick it out and see it through to the end.

And Scar had just offered him a tentative olive branch to making that better.

Roy, his heart lifting to lodge itself uncomfortably right in his throat, looked back around at his strange group of steadfast friends again.

"I actually- don't tell, really, I don't want to wake up and find him standing over me with a knife- but I took his cat myself," Scar was saying, still a tentative sort of venture as if he didn't trust the ground under his own feet, and his friends were much the same way, but they weren't at blows and that was something. "I was only looking for my cloak, which he'd stolen, because he likes stealing stuff because he's a pillock and a git, but I found his cat sleeping in it and... and I... well..."

"You _stole it,_ " Jean repeated, with a moral outrage so brazenly fake it was laughable.

Scar huffed defensively, shifting away with a scowl as fake as Jean's outrage, and a look on his face that nearly made Roy snicker right off under his breath. "Yeah, and the poor guy needed someone to look after him, and Kimbley stole something from me first, anyway!" Rolling his eyes, Scar reached for a plate himself, seeming to be set at intent now on staying. "Besides, it's not like I kidnapped him for myself. I took him straight to Madam Pomfrey. I mean... I left him right outside her office so I wouldn't get in trouble, but... _still."_

"Serves him right, I reckon," Riza muttered, her eyes narrowing in one of her more dangerous glares straight across the hall again, once more searching for Kimbley. "He probably got a cat just so he could bully it."

"Well, whatever the reason, he's not getting it back. I mentioned that to Professor McGonagall, too. I don't think she's allowed to tell us what's going on but she... hinted." He smiled slightly, a cold and almost cruel little thing, but a cruelty that Roy could get behind pretty much one hundred percent. "I think when they asked him Kimbley tried to weasel his way out... he said he'd never taken care of a cat before and had gotten in over his head."

"Gotten in- _what?"_

Scar started, attention jolting back onto him with the slightest intake of breath in surprise. "...I know," he muttered at last, giving him a scowl that Roy, again, agreed with one hundred percent. "I think McGonagall hates his guts now, but Slughorn stuck up for him. Again. But he won't be able to get to his cat again, so- I guess that's all that really matters, isn't it?" He managed another weak attempt at a smile, one that only barely filtered through Roy's gritted teeth and his own dark glare, searching back across the hall for Kimbley himself.

Little _brat..._

"She wouldn't tell me what happened to the cat, but there're a few rumors going around that McGonagall's gotten a new cat, and- make of that what you will, I guess." Scar laughed quietly, though it was more sad than not, and his mouth wavered into a tentative, fragile frown. "He'll be okay with her. She's a huge cat person, if you hadn't noticed... really, she almost kinda _looks_ like one."

Once again Roy could only barely hold back a surprised snicker of his own, eyes widening in amused confusion. "I mean, if she had whiskers, maybe..."

"Hey, I'm serious! Haven't you seen that silver tabby that crawls around the school sometimes, in the afternoons? Don't you think it kind of looks like her?"

Roy didn't have the foggiest idea _what_ he was talking about- McGonagall? A _cat?_ But at that moment, Maes broke what was probably the longest silence Roy had ever seen him hold to tug on Roy's arm again, excited and bright-eyed like a thrilled puppy. (Half of Roy was exasperated, and half wanted to beam back). "Roy, haven't you seen her? She's around all the time... I think she lives down by near the way to the Quidditch pitch, haven't you seen her? She's been curling up around near that classroom that- you know." He smiled again, like it was their own little secret, and... well, it kind of was... "I've wondered if I should take a snack for her, but she always seems real well-fed..."

Roy frowned to himself once more, trying to think back. He usually was pretty distracted around the classroom he was currently using as a bedroom, to say the least, but if he thought about it...

No. No, he didn't see it. As usual, Maes was insane, because McGonagall was a a human being and the silver tabby he could only vaguely remember now, always seemingly curled up nearby that classroom and blinking at him with watchful eyes- well, that was a _cat._ Not a McGonagall. How could a cat look like a person, anyway? Of course Maes would like it, though... even though it was Scar's idea... god, he was cursed to always end up with maniacs, wasn't he? There was no other explanation for it. His sisters and aunt had never exactly been the sanest of anyone, and now look at him at Hogwarts; Maes, Scar, Riza...

He somehow seemed to just attract these people like flies, he thought amusedly, leaning his head back against his hand to look around at them all. Except that wasn't quite fair, because they weren't flies, but instead genuine friends who for some very strange reason seemed to like him.

Genuine friends that he could see himself staying at Hogwarts with.

"Well," Scar said at last, gathering his things up and his bag back over his shoulder again, "I actually told Rosier I'd meet him in the library after this, so I'd better get going. It was nice meeting you all... I think." Then he looked towards Roy alone, that same terribly tentative smile slipping hesitantly back, like he still felt like he was standing on the thinnest sheet of ice and didn't know how much he could risk going. "I'll be around, Roy. If you want me to put your stuff back just tell me, but... the bed's there if you want it. Yeah?"

Roy was helpless but to smile slightly back, something warm once again unfolding in his chest, and for a moment, said nothing at all. His gaze searched back from Scar to the others around him once more. Jean and Heymans wordlessly bickering at each other, Vato sneaking a book under the table, Kain silent and watching Scar with a faint, apprehensive sort of smile. Riza, with her arms still folded and head tilted just a little bit as if she were listening for anything to give her the slightest hint of something going wrong, and she'd need to pounce. Scar standing back across from him, waiting for an assurance back, looking past however Roy might've treated him earlier today, whatever might've happened in the months and years before, without a second thought, in what was really all Roy had been asking for ever since ending up at Hogwarts in the first place.

Maes, still next to him, just like he'd always been.

Roy took in as deep and steadying breath as he could, steeling himself back against the table, then turned himself around again to fully face Scar. "Yeah," he said back, and when Maes stiffened slightly beside him simply leaned to gently nudge his shoulder in a reassuring brush against his. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time!


End file.
